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1)^: JOH^SO^T" 



>*»/,*. /"y U'y>.ir./ 



THE 



WORKS 



OF 



SAMUEL JOHNSON, L.L.1 

A NEW EDITION, 

IN FIFTEEN VOLUMES. 

WITH 

AN ESSAY ON HIS LIFE AND GENim 
BY ARTHUR MURPHY, ESQ. 

VOL. I. 



JSTEW'YORK: 
PUBLISHBD BY WILLIAM DURELL. 

1809. 



InExchazige 

Univ, of Virginia 
MAR 3 1 1937 



ADVERTISEMENT 



i. WENTY years have elapsed since the death of Dr. 
Johnson, durmg which his character and talents have 
been scrutinized with a severity unprecedented in lite- 
rary biography. There never, indeed, was a human 
being of whom more may be known by those who have 
had no opportunity of personal acquaintance, and perhaps 
never a man whose failings, after having been exposed 
by imprudence or exaggerated by malice, were sooner 
forgotten in the esteem excited by his superior talents^ 
and steady virtues. Besides many impressions of his 
individual pieces, three large editions of his collected 
works have been bought up by the public, and a fourth, 
which has been loudly called for, is now completed. 
What Lord Chesterfield said of Swift, may be as truly 
applied to this author, " Whoever in the three king- 
doms has any books at all, has Johnson.''* 

In this edition, I have taken the liberty to omit " Ce- 
bes Table, or the Picture of Human Life." Bv what 



ADVERTISEMENT. 

means it came to be printed among Dr. Johnson's pre- 
ductions, I know not, except that there Avas once a tra- 
vlitionary report that he translated it for Dodslcy's Pre- 
ceptor. But internal evidence may be more safely reli- 
ed on in the case of Dr. Johnson than of almost any oth- 
er writer, and in this article it is impossible to discover 
the most distant resemblance to his style, nor has any 
of his biographers attributed it to him. The truth is, it 
v/as translated by Mr. Spence, first published in the 
third volume of Dodsley's Museum, in 1747, and copied 
into the Preceptor the following year. 

To fill up the space occupied by this article, I have 
supplied five papers of the Adventurer, hitherto 
omitted by the mistake of Sir John Hawkins, the first 
collector of Dr. Johnson's works. I have also added 
such of Dr. Johnson's Dedications as have been yet 
discovered, one or two of which Mr. Boswell overlooked 
or rejected. Among these is the dedication to the Par- 
liament, of a book entitled, " The Evangelical History of 
Jesus Christ." Mr. Boswell cannot allow that Dr. 
Johnson wrote this, because " he was no croaker, no 
declaimer against the times'^ This, however, is contra- 
dicted by the tenor of some of Dr. Johnson's writings 
before the present reign, and even by some of those con 
versations which Mr. Boswell has collected. The iiru- 



ADVERTISEMENT. v 

cle is as evidently Johnsonian as any which have been 
attributed to him from internal evidence ; and it \ras 
copied into the Literary Journal while he was the 
editor of that publication. His other Dedications 
have been so long considered as models of courtly ad- 
dress, that no apology seems necessary for this additioji 
to the many proofs he has given of excellence in every 
species of composition. 

A few illustrative notes have been appended to some 
parts of this edition. The time is not yet come when it 
will be necessary to extend this kind of information, but 
some events and circumstances required explanation, 
and some dates were wanting to the lesser pieces. I 
have only to add that the Ramblers and Idlers were 
revised according to the text of the lately collated edition 
in the British Essayists, and several material errors 
have been corrected. 

ALEXr. CHALMERS. 

London^ January, 1806. 



CONTENTS 

OF 

THE FIRST VOLUME. 



PAGE. 

ESSAY otT the Life and Genius of Dr Johnson - - - - 1 

London 133 

The vanity of Human Wishes 147 

Prologue spoken by Mr. Garrick, at the opening of the 

Theatre Royal, Drury Lane 161 

Irene 165 

Prologue to the Masque of Comus 263 

Prologue to the Comedy of the Good Natured Man - - - 264 

Prologue to the Comedy of a Word to the Wise - - - 266 

Spring 267 

Midsummer 268 

Autumn 270 

Winter 271 

The Winter's Walk 273 

To Miss ****, on her giving the Author a Gold and Silk Net 

work Purse of her own weaving ibid- 

To Miss ****, on her playing upon the Harpsichord in a 

room hung with Flower pieces of her own Painting - 274 

Evening ; an Ode. To Stella 276 

To the same 277 

To a Friend 278 

Stella in Mourning 279 

To Stella ibid. 

Verses written at the request of a Gentleman to whom a 

Lady had given a Sprig of Myrtle 280 

To Lady Firebrace, at Bury Assizes - - 281 

To Lyce, an elderly Lady ibid. 

On the Death of Mr. Robert Levet - - 282 



viii CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

Epitaph on Claude Philips 284 

Epitaphiuin in. Thomam Hanmer, Baroocttum ... - ibid. 

Paraphrase of the above, by Dr. Johnson 287 

To Miss Hickman, playing on the Spinnet . - . - . 289 
Paraphrase of Proverbs, Chap. vi. Verses 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11 - 290 
Horace, Lib. IV. Ode VII. translated ibid. 

Anacreon, Ode IX. 292 

1 
Lines written in ridicule of certain Poems published in 1777 293 

Parody of a translation from the Medea of Euripides - - 294 

Translation of the two first Stanzas of the song " Rio Verde, 

Rio Verde" 295 

tmitatation of the Style of ***** ibid. 

Burlesque of some lines of Lopez de Vega ------ ibid- 

Translation of some lines at the end of Barctti's Easy Phra- 
seology • 29C 

Improviso translation of a Distich on the Duke of Modena's 

running away from the Comet in 1742 or 1743 - - - 297 
Improviso Translation of some lines of Mons. Benserade k 

son Lit -- -- -- ibid. 

Epitaph for Mr. Hogarth ----- ibid. 

Translation of some lines written under a print representing 

persons skating - 298 

Impromptu Translation of the same ibid. 

To Mrs- Thrale, on her completing her thirty fifth year - ibid. 
Impromptu translation of an Air in the Clemeza de Tito of 

Metastatio 299 

Translation of a speech of Aquileio in the Adrian© of Metas- 

tasio --.-.. 300 

Poemata ■ - - - - 301 . 



AN 



ESSAY 



ON THE 



LIFE AND GENIUS 



OF 



SAMUEL JOHNSON, L. L. D 



VV HEN the works of a great writer, who has be- 
queathed to posterity a lasting legacy, are presented to 
the world, it is naturally expected, that some account of 
his life should accomptuiy the edition. The reader 
wishes to know as much as possible of the author. The 
circumstances that attended him, the features of his pri- 
vate character, his conversation, and the means by Avhicli 
he rose to eminence, become the favourite objects of in- 
quiry. Curiosity is excited ; and the admirer of his 
works is eager to know his private opmions, his course 
of study, the particularities of his conduct, and, above 
all, whether he pursued the wisdom which he recom- 
mends, and practised the virtue which his writings in- 
spire. A principle of gratitude is awakened in eveiy 
VOL. I, 1 



^ AN ESSAV ON THE LIFE AND 

generous mind. For the entertainment and instruction 
which genius and diligence have provided for the world, 
men of refined and sensible tempers are ready to pay 
their tribute of praise, and even to form a posthumous 
friendship with the author. 

In reviewing the life of such a writer, there is, be- 
sides, a rule of justice to which the public have an un- 
doubted claim. Fond admiration and partial friendship 
should not be suffered to represent his virtues with ex- 
aggeration ; nor should malignity be allowed, under 
a specious disguise, to magnify mere defects, the usual 
failings of human nature, into vice or gross deformity. 
The lights and shades of the character should be given ; 
and, if this be done with a strict regard to truth, a just 
estimate of Dr. Johnson will afford a lesson perhaps as 
valuable as the moral doctrine that speaks with energy 
in every page of his works. 

The present writer enjoyed the couA^ersation and 
friendship of that excellent man more than thirty years. 
He thought it an honour to be so connected, and to this 
hour he reflects on his loss with regret ; but regret, he 
knows, has secret bribes, by which the judgment may be 1 
influenced, and partial affection may be carried beyond 
the bounds of truth. In the present case, however, 
nothing needs to be disguised, and exaggerated praise is 
imnecessary. It is an observation of the younger Pliny, 
in his epistle to his friend Tacitus, that histoiy ought 
never to magnify matters of fact, because worthy actions 
require nothing but the truth. Aam nee historia debet 
egredi veritaterriy et honeHe factis verifas sufficit. This 



GENIUS OF DR. JOIIKSON. 

rule the present biographer promises shall guide liis pen 
throughout the following narrative. 

It may be said, the death of Dr. Johnson kept the pub- 
lic niind in agitation beyond all former example. No 
literary character ever excited so much attention ; and, 
^vhen the press has teemed with anecdotes, apophthegms, 
essays, and publications of every kind, ^vhat occasion 
now for a new tract on the s^ne threadbare subject ? 
The plain truth shall be the answer. The proprietors 
of Johnson's Works thought the life, which they prefix- 
ed to their former edition, too unwieldy for republication. 
The prodigious variety of foreign matter, introduced into 
that performance, seemed to overload the memory of 
Dr. Johnson, and in tlie account of his own life to leave 
him hardly visible. They wished to have a more con- 
cise, and for that reason, perhaps a more satisfactory ac- 
count, such as may exhibit a just picture of the man, and 
keep him the principal figure in the fore ground of liis 
own picture. To comply with that request is the de- 
sign of this essay, v/hich the writer undertakes with a 
trembling hand. He has no discoveries, no secret anec- 
dotes, no occasional controversy, no sudden flashes of 
wit and humour, no private conversation, and no new 
facts, to embellish his work. Every thing has been 
gleaned. Dr. Johnson said of himself, " I am not uncan- 
did, nor severe ; I sometimes say more than I mean, 
in jest, and people are apt to think me serious."* 
The exercise of that privilege, which is enjoyed by 
every man in society, has not been allowed to him. Plis 

* BosweH'sLife of Johnson, \ol. ii. p. A05. 4to. edit. 



4 AN ESSAY ON THE LIFE AND 

fame has given importance even to trifles ; and the zeaf 
of his friends Las brought every thing to light. What' 
should be related, and what should not, has been pub- 
lished without distinction. Dicenda taccnda hcuti I Ev- 
er)' thing that fell from him has been caught with ea- 
gerness by his admirers, who, as he says in one of his 
letters, have acted with the diligence of spies upon his 
conduct. To some of them the following lines, in Mal- 
let's poem on verbal criticism, are not inapplicable ; 

" Such that grave bh-d in northern seas is found, 
"Whose name a Dutchman only knows to sound ; 
Where'er the king offish moves on before. 
This luimble friend attends from shore to shore ; 
With eye still earnest, and with bill iucllu'd, 
Mg picks up -what his patron drops behind. 
With tliose choice cates his palate to regale. 
And is the careful Tibbald of a whale." 

After so many essays and volumes of Johnsoniana^ what 
remains for the present writer ? Perhaps, what has not | 
been attempted ; a short, yet full, a faithful, yet temper- 
ate, history of Dr. Johnson. 

SAMUEL JOHNSON was born at Lichfield, Sep- 
tember 7th. 1709, O. S.* His.father, Michael Johnson, 
uas a bookseller in that city ; a man of large athletic 
make, and violent passions ; wrongheaded, positive, and 
at^ times afflicted with a degree of melancholy, little- 

* This appears in a note to Johnson's Diary, prefixed to the 
first of his prayers. After tlie alteration of tlie style, he kept hia 
l)irthday <5n the 18th. of September, and it is accordingly iparkcd 
September IL . 



GENIUS OF DR. JOHNSOX. 5 

short of madness. His mother was sister to Dr. Ford, 
a practising physician, and father of Cornelius Ford, gen- 
erally known by the name of Parson Ford, the same 
who is represented near the punchbowl in Hogarth's 
Midnight Modern Conversation. In the Life of Fen- 
ton, Johnson says, that " his abilities, instead of furnish- 
ing convivial merriment to the ^ oluptuous and dissolute, 
might have enabled him to excel among tlie vii tuous and 
the wise.'* Being chaplain to the Earl of Chesterfield, 
he wished to attend that nobleman on his embassy to the 
Hague. Colley Cibber has recorded the anecdote. " You 
should go," said the witty peer, " if to your many vices 
you would add one more." " Pray my lord, what is 
that ?" " Hypocrisy, my dear doctor." Johnson had a 
younger brother named Nathaniel, who died at the age 
of twenty seven or twenty eight. Michael Johnson, the 
father, was chosen in the year 1718 under baiiiff of Lich- 
field; and in the year 1725 he served the office of the senior 
bailiff. Fie hud a brother of the name of Andrevr, Avho, 
for some years, kept the ring at Snuthfield, appropriated 
to wrestlers and boxers. Our author used to say, that 
he was never thrown cr conquered. T^ichael, the father, 
died December, 1731, at the age of seventy six; his 
mother at eighty nine, of a gradual decay, in the year 
1759 Of the family nothing more can be rek.ted wor- 
thy of notice. Johnson did not delight in talking of his 
relations. " There is little pleasure," he said to Mrs. 
Piozzi, " in relating the anecdotes of beggary." 

Johnson derived from his parents, or from an nn- 
wholesome nurse, the distemper called the king's evil. 
The Jacobites at that time believed in the efficacy of the 



^> AX ESSAY ON THE UF£ AND 

royal touch ; and accordingly Mrs. Johnson presented 
her son, when two years old, before Queen Anne, who^ 
lor the first time, performed that office, and communi- 
cated to her young- patient all the healing virtue in her 
power. He was afterwards cut for that scrophulous 
humour, and the under part of his face was seamed and 
disfigured by the operation. It is supposed, that this 
disease deprived him of the sight of his left eye, and also 
impaired his hearing. At eight years old, he was placed 
under Mr. Hawkins, at the free school in Lichfield, 
where he was not remarkable for diligence or regular I 
application. Whatever he read, his tenacious memoiy 
made his own. In the fields with his schoQlfellows he 
talked more to himself than with his companions. In 
1725, when he was about sixteen yeaj's old, he went on 
a visit to his cousin Cornelius Ford, who detained him 
for some months, and in the mean time assisted him in 
the classics. The general direction for his studies, ' 
which he tlien received, he related to Mrs. Piozzi, 
"' Obtain," says Ford, " some general principles of eveiy 
science ; he who can talk only on one subject, or act 
only in one dcpar. ment, is seldom wanted, and perhaps? 
never wished for ; \/liiIe the man of general knowledge 
cm often benefit, and always please." The advice John- 
tion seems to have pursued with a good inclination. His 
reading was always desultory, seldom resting on any par- 
ticular author, but rambling from one book to another, 
and, by hasty snatches, hoarding up a variety of knowl- 
edge. It may be proper in this place to mention another 
general rule laid down by Ford for Johnson's future con- 
duct ; " You will make your way the more easily in the 



GENIUS OF DI{. JOHNSON. 7 

world, as you are contented to dispute no man's claim to 
conversation excellence ; they will, therefore, more will- 
ingly allow your pretensions as a writer." " But," 
says Mrs. Piozzi, « the features of peculiarity, which 
mark a character to all succeeding generations, are slow 
in coming to their growth." That ingenious lady adds, 
with her usual vivacity, " Can one, on such an occa- 
sion, forbear recollecting the predictions of Boileau's 
father, w ho said, stroking the head of the young satirist, 
'this little man has too much wit, but he v ill never 
speak ill of any one ?" 

On Johnson's return from Cornelius Ford, Mr. Hun- 
ter, then master of the free school at Lichfield, refused 
to receive him again on that foundation. At this distance 
of time, what his reasons were, it is vain to inquire ; 
but to refuse assistance to a lad of promising genius nuist 
be pronounced harsh and illiberal. It did not, however, 
step the progress of the young student's education. He 
was placed at another school, at Stourbridge, in Wor- 
cestershire, under the care of Mr. ^Ventworth. Havin'>- 
gone through the rudiments of classic literature, he re- 
turned to his father's house, and was probably intended 
for the trade of a bookseller. ^ He has been heard to say 
that he could bind a book. At the end of two years, be- 
ing then about nineteen, he went to assist the studies of a 
young gentleman of the name of Corbett, to the univer- 
sity of Oxford ; and on the 31st. of October, 1728, both 
were entered of Pembroke College ; CorLcic as a gen- 
tleman commoner, and Johnson as a commoner. The 
college tutor, Mr. Jordan, was a man of no genius ; 
and Johnson, it seems, shewed an early contempt of 



8 AN ESSAY ON THE LIFE AND 

mean abilities, in one or two instances behaving with in- 
solence to that gentleman. Of his general conduct at 
the university, tliere are no particulars that merit atten- j 
tion, except the translation of Pope's Messiah, which f 
was a college exercise imposed upon him as a task by- 
Mr. Jordan. Corbett left the university in abeut two 
years, and Johnson's salary ceased. He was, by conse* 
quence, straitened in his circumstances ; but he still re- 
mained at college. Mr. Jordan, the tutor, went off to a 
living ; and was succeeded by Dr. Adams, who after- 
wards became head of the college, and was esteemed 
through life for his learning, his talents, and his amiable 
character. Johnson grew more regular in his attend- 
ance. Ethics, theology, and classic literature, were his 
favourite studies. He discovered, notwithstanding, early 
sym.ptoms of that wandering disposition of mind which 
adhered to him to the end of his life. His reading was 
by fits and starts, undirected to any particular science. 
General philology, agreeably to his cousin Ford's advice, 
was the object of his ambition. He received, at that 
time, an early impression of piety, and a taste for the 
best authors, ancient and modern. It may, notwith- 
standing, be questioned whether, except his Bible, he 
ever read a book entirely through. Late in life, if any 
man praised a book in his presence, he was sure to ask, 
" Did 5^ou read it through ?" If the answer was in the 
altirmativc, he did not seem willing to believe it. He 
continued at the university till the want of pecuniary 
supplies obliged him to (juit the place. He obtained, 
however, the assistance of a friend, and returning in a 
short time, was able to complete a residence of three 



GEXrUS OF DR. JOHNSON. v 

years. The history of his exploits at Oxford, he used 
to say, was best known to Dr. Taylor and Dr. Adams. 
Wonders are told of his memoiy, and, indfeed, all Avho 
knew liim late in life can witness that he retained that 
faculty in the greatest vigor. 

From the university Johnson returned to Lichfield. 
His father died soon after, December, 1731 : i.rid the 
whole receipt out of his effects, as appeared by a memo- 
randum in the son's hand writing, dated 15th. June, 
1732, was no more than twenty pounds.* In this exi- 
gence, determined that poverty should never depress his 
spirits, nor warp his integrity, he became under master 
of a grammar school at Market Bosworth, in Leicester- 
shire. That resource, hov.evcr, did not last long. Dis- 
gusted by the pride of Sir Wolstan Dixie, the patron of 
that little seminary, he left the place in discontent, and 
ever spoke of it with abhorrence. In 1733 he went on 
a visit to Mr. Hector, who had been his schoolfellow, 
and was then a surgeon at Birmingham, lodging at the 
house of Wan-en, a bookseller. At that place Johnson 
translated a Voyage to Abyssinia, written by Jerome Lo- 
bo, a Portuguese missionary. This was the first literaiy 
work from the pen of Dr. Johnson. His friend Hector 
was occasionally his amanuensis. The work was, prob- 

* The entry of tliis is remarkable for liis early resolution to pre- 
serve tlu'ougli life a fair uud uprij^lit character. " 1732, Junii 15. 
Undecim aureos deposui, quo die, quidquid ante matris funiis, 
quod serum sit precor, de paternis bonis sperare licet/ viginti 
scilicet libras, accepi. Usque adeo mihi mea fortuna fingenda est 
interea, et ue panpertate vires aniuii langucscant, r.e ia flagitia 
egestas adigat, c?\vendum.'^ 



10 AN ESSAY ON THE LIFE AND 

ably, undertaken at the desire of Warren, the booksel- 
ler, and was printed at Birmingham ; but it appears in 
the Literary' Magazine, or History of the Works of the 
Learned, for March, 1735, that it was published by Bet- 
teswoith and Hitch, Paternoster row. It contains a nar- 
rative of the endeavours of a company of missionaries to 
convert the people of Abyssinia to the church of Rome. 
In the preface to this work, Johnson observes, " that the 
Portuguese traveller, contrary to the general view of his 
countrymen, has amused his readers with no romantic ab- 
surdities,* or incredible fictions. He appears, by his mod- 
est and unaffected narration, to have described things as 
he saw them ; to have copied nature from the life ; and 
to have consulted his senses, not his imagination. He 
meets with no basilisks, that destroy with their eyes ; 
his crocodiles devour their pi'ey, without tears ; and his 
cataracts fall from the rock, without deafening the neigh- 
bouring inhabitants. The reader '\viil here find no re- 
gions cursed with irremediable barrenness, or blessed 
with spontaneous fecundity ; no perpetual gloom, or un- 
ceasing sunshine ; nor are the nations here described, 
either void of all sense of humanity, or consummate in 
all private and social virtues ; here are no Hottentots 
without religion, polity, or articulate language ; no Chi- 
nese perfectly polite, and completely skilled in all the 
sciences ; he will discover, what will always be discov- 
ered by a diligent and impartial inq\:lrcr, that wherever 
human nature is to be found, there is a mixture of vice 
and virtue, a contest cf pussion and reason ; and that the 
Creator doth not appear partial in his distributions, but 
hfts balanced, in most countries, their particulai' incon^ 



GENIUS OF DR. JOHNSOX. i ^ 

veniences by pariicular favours.*' We have here an 
early specimen of Johnson's manner ; the vein of think- 
ing and the frame of the sentences are manifestly his ; 
we see the infant Hercules. The translation of Lobo's 
Narrative has been reprinted lately in a separate volume, 
•with some other tracts of Dr. Johnson's, and therefore 
forms no part of this edition ; but a compendious ac- 
count of so interesting a work as Father Lobo's discovery 
of the head of the Nile, will not, it is imagined, be unac- 
ceptable to the reader. 

Father Lobo, the Portuguese missionary, embarked, 
in 1622, in the same fleet with the Count Vldi^idra^ 
who was appointed, by the king of Portugal, viceroy of 
the Indies. They arrived at Goa ; and, in January, 
1624, Father Lobo set out on the mission to Abyssinia- 
Two of the Jesuits sent on the same commission, were 
murdered in their attempt to penetrate into that empire. 
Lobo had better success ; he surmounted all difficul- 
ties, and made his way into the heart of the country. 
Then follows a description of Abyssinia, formerly the 
largest empire of which we have an account in history. 
It extended from the Red Sea to the kingdom of Congo, 
and from Egypt to the Indian Sea, containing^io le 
than forty provinces. At the time of Lobo's mission, it' 
was not much larger than Spain, consisting then but 
of five kingdoms, of which part was entirely subject 
to the emperor, and part paid him a tribute, as an 
acknowledgment. The provinces were inhabited by 
Moors, Pagans, Jews, and Christians, The last was iu 
Lobo's time the established and reis^ning religion. The 
diversity of people and religion is the reason why th<r 



'3 AN ESSAY ON THE LIFE AND 

kingdom was under different forms of government, with 
jaws and customs extremely various. Some of the peo- 
ple neither sowed their lands, nor improved them by any 
kind of culture, living upon milk and flesh, and, like the 
Arabs, encamping without any settled habitation. In 
some places they practised no rites of worship, though 
they believed that, in the regions above, there dwells 
a Being that governs the world. This Deity they 
call in their own language OuL The Christianity, 
professed by the people in some parts, is so corrupt- 
ed with superstitions, errors, and heresies, and so min- 
gled with ceremonies borrowed from the Jews, that 
little, besides the name of Christianity, is to be found 
among them. The Abyssins cannot properly be said to 
have either cities or houses ; they live in tents or cot- 
tages made of straw or cli^y, very rarely building with 
stone. Their villages or towns consist of these huts ; 
yet even of such villages they have but few ; because 
the grandees, the viceroys, and the emperor himself, are 
alwaye in camp, that they may be prepared, upon the 
most sudden alarm, to meet every emergence in a coun- 
try which is engaged every year either in foreign v/ars 
oi* intestine commotions. Ethiopia produces very near 
the same kinds of provision as Portugal, though, by the 
extreme laziness of the inhabitants, in a much less quan- 
tity. What the ancients imagined of the torrid zone be- 
ing a part of the world uninhabitable, is so far from being- 
true, that the climate is very temperate. The blacks 
have better features than in other countries, and are not 
without Avit and ingenuity. Their apprehension is quick, 
aiid their judgment sound. There are in the climate 



GENIUS OP DR. JOHNSOX. 1.3 

iwo harvests in the year ; one in winter, which lasts 
through the months of July, August, and September ; 
the other in the spring. They have, in the greatest 
plenty, raisins, peaches, pomegranates, sugar canes, and 
some figs. Most of these are ripe about Lent, which 
the Abyssins keep with great strictness. The animals 
of the country are the lion, the elephant, the rhinoceros, 
the unicorn, horses, mules, oxen, and cows without num- 
ber. They have a very particular custom, which obliges 
every man, that has a thousand cows, to save evciy year 
one day's milk of all his herd, and make a bath Mith it 
for his relations. Tliis they do so many days in each 
year, as they have thousands of cattle ; so that, to ex- 
press how rich a man is, they tell you, he bathes so inany 
■times. 

" Of the liver Nile, which has furnished so much con- 
troversy, we have a full and clear description. It is 
called by the natives, Abavi, the father of water. It 
rises in Sac al a, a province of the kingdom of Go i am a, 
the most fertile and agreeable part of the Abyssinian 
dominions. On the eastern side of the country, on the 
declivity of a mountain, whose descent is so easy, that it 
seems a beautiful plain, is that source of the Nile, which 
has been sought after at so much expense and labour. 
This spring, or rather these two springs, are two holes, 
each about two feet diameter, a stone's cast distant from 
each other. One of them is about five feet and a half 
in depth. Lobo was not able to sink his plummet lower, 
perhaps, because it was stopped by roots, the whole 
place being full of trees. A line of ten feet did not reach 
the bottom of the otlier. These springs are supposed by 
VOL. I. . 2 



i'^ AN ESSAY OX THE LIFE AND 

ihe Abyssiiis to be the vents of a great subterraneous 
lake. At a small distance to the south, is a village called 
Guij:, through which you ascend to the top of the moun- 
tain, where there is a little hill, \\hich the idolatrous 
J(fad hold in great veneration. Their priest calls them 
together to this place once a year ; and every one sacri- 
iiccs a cow, or more, according to the different degrees 
of wealth and devotion. Hence mc have sufficient proof, 
that these nations always paid adoration to the Deity of 
this famous river. 

" As to the course of the Nile, its waters, after 
their first rise, run towards the east, about the length 
of a musket shot ; then, turning northward, continue 
hidden in the grass and weeds for about a quarter of a 
league, when they reappear amongst a quantity of rocks. 
The Nile from its soui'ce proceeds with so inconsidera- 
ble a current, that it is in danger of being diied up by 
the hot season ; but soon receiving an increase from the 
Gemma, the KELTU,the Bransa, and the other smaller 
rivers, it expands to such a breadth in the plams of Bo ad, 
which is not above three days journey from its source, 
that a musket ball will scarcely fly from one bank to the 
other. Here it begins to run northward, winding, how- 
ever, a little to the east, for the space of nine or ten 
leagues, and then enters the so nmch talked of lake of 
Dambia, flowing with such violent rapidity, that its wa- 
ters may be distinguished through the whole passage, 
which is no less than six leagues. Here begins the 
greatness of the Nile. Fifteen miles further, in the 
land of Alata, it rushes precipitately from the top of a 
iiigh reck, and forms one of the most beautiful water falls 



GENIUS OF DR. JOIIXSOX. 1-5 

in the world. Lobo says, he passed under it ^vithout being 
wet, and resting himself, for the sake of the coolness, was 
charmed with a thousand delightful rainbows, which the 
sunbeams painted on the water, in all their shining and 
lively colours.* The fall of this mighty stream, from so 
great a height, makes a noise that may be heard at a 
considerable distance ; but it was not found, that the 
neighbouring inhabitants were deaf. After the cataract, 
the Nile collects its scattered stream among the rocks, 
which are so near each other, that, in Lobo's time, a 
bridge of beams, on which the whole imperial army pass- 
ed, was laid over them. Sultan Sequed has since built a 
stone bridge of one arch, in the same place, for which 
purpose he procured masons from India. Here the river 
alters its course, and passes through various kingdoms, 
such as Amhara, Olaca, Choaa, Damot, and the 
kingdom of Goiama, and, after various windhigs, returns 
within a short day's journey of its spring. To pursue it 
through all its mazes, and accompany it round the king- 
dom of Goiama, is a journey of twenty nine days. From 
Abyssinia, the river passes into the countries of Fazulo 
and Ombarca, two vast regions little kno^\'n, inhabited 

* This Mr. Titucc, the hite traveller, avers to be n downright 
falsehood. He says, a deep podl of ivatcr i-riaches to the very foot 
of the rock ; and, allowing that there was a seat or hench, vhich 
there is not, in the middle of the pool, it is absolutely iiupossible, 
by any exertion of human strengtii, to have arrived at it. But it 
may be asked, can Mr. Urnce s:iv, what was the face of the coun- 
try in the year lGt22, when T.,obo saw the magniriccnt sight which 
]ie has described ? Mr. TJruce's pool of water may have heeu 
Vornjed since ; and Lobn, uevliaiis. wms content to sit doM-n v/ith>i 
at a b?:r,v'h. 



16 AN ESSAY ON THE LIFE AND 

by nations entirely clifTerent from the Abyssins. Their 
hair, like that of the other h]acks in those regions, 
is short and curled. In the year 1615, Rassela Chris- 
Tos, lieutenant i^eneral to Sultan Sequed, entered those 
kingdoms in a hostile manner ; but, not being able 
to get intelligence, returned without attempting any 
thing. As the empire of Abyssinia terminates at these 
descents, I.obo followed the course of the Nile no far- 
ther, leaving it to rage over barbarous kingdoms, and 
convey v.ealth and plenty into Egypt, which owes to the 
annual inundations of this river its envied fertility.* 
Lobo knows nothing of the Nile in the rest of its pas- 
sage, except tliat it receives great increase from many 
«ther rivers, has several cataracts like that already de- 
scribed, and that few fish are to be found in it ; that scar- 
city is to be attributed to the river horse and the crocodile ^ 
which destroy the weaker inhabitants of the river. 
Something likewise must be imputed to the cataracts^ 
where fish cannot fall without being killed. Lobo adds^ 
that neither he, nor any with whom he conversed about 
the crocodile^ ever saw him weep ; and therefore all that 
hath been said about his tears, must be ranked among 
the fables invented for the amusement of children. 

" As to the causes of the inundations of the Nile, Lobo 
observes, that many an idle hypothesis has been framed. 
Som.e theorists ascribe it to the high winds, that stop the 
current, and force the water above its banks. Others 

* After comparing this description ^vith that lately given by 
Mr. Bruce, the reader will judge whether Lobo is to lo?e the hon- 
our of having been at the head of the Nile near tM o centuries be- 
lore any other Europoau traveller 



GENIUS OF DR. JOHNSON. 17 

■pretend a subterraneous communication between the 
ocean and the Nile, and that the sea, when violently agi- 
tated, swells the river. Many are of opinion, that this 
mighty flood proceeds from the melting of the snov/ on 
the mountains of Ethiopia ; but so much snow and such 
prodigious heat are never met with in the same region. 
Lobo never saw snow in Abyssinia, except on mount 
Semen in the kingdom of Tigre, very remote from 
the Nile ; and on Namara, which is, mdced, not far 
distant, but where there never falls snow eriough to 
wet, when dissolved, the foot of the mountain. To the 
immense labours of the Portuguese^ mankind are indebt- 
ed for the knowledge of the real cause of these inunda- 
tions, so great and so regular. By them vvc arc inform- 
ed, that Abyssinia, where the Nile rises, is full of moun- 
tains, and, in its natural situation, is- much higher than 
Egypt ; that in the winter, from June to September, no 
day is without rain ; that the Nile receives in its course, 
all the rivers, brooks, and torrents, that fail from those 
mountains, and, by. necessary consequence, swelling 
above its banks, fills the plains of Egypt with inunda- 
tions, which come regularly about tlie month of July, or 
three weeks after the beginning of the rainy season in 
Ethiopia. The different degrees vi this flood are such 
certain indications of the fruitfulness or sterility of the en- 
suing year, that it is publicly proclaimed at Cairo how 
much the water hath gained during the night." 

Such is the account of the Nile and its inundations, 
which it is hoped, will not be deemed an improper or te- 
dious digression, especially as the whole is an extract 
from Joiin3on's translation i. flc is all the lime the actor 



}S AN ESSAY ON THE LIFE AND 

in the scene, and in his own words relates the story. 
Having finished this work, he returned in February, 1734, 
to his native city, and, in the month of August following, 
published proposals for printing by subscription the Latin 
Poems of Politian, with the History of Latin Poetry, 
from the era of Petrarch to the time of Politian ; and 
also the Life of Politian, to be added by the editor, 
Samuel Johnson. The book to be printed in thirty oc-^ 
tavo sheets, price live shillings. It is to be regretted 
that this project failed for want of encouragement. 
Johnson, it seems, differed from Boileau, Voltaire, and 
D'Lembert, who have taken upon them to proscribe all 
modem efforts to write v/ith elegance in a dead lan- 
guage. For a decision pronounced in so high a tone, 
no good reason can be assigned. The interests of learn- 
ing require,' that the diction of Greece and Rome should 
be cultivated with care ; and he who can write a lan- 
guage with correctness, will be most likely to under- 
stand its idiom, its grammar, and its peculiar graces 
ef style. What man of taste would willingly forego the 
pleasure of reeiding Fida, Fracastorius^ Sannazaro^ Stra-^ 
flay and others, down to the late elegant productions of 
Bishop Lo^vth ? The histoiy which Johnson proposed 
to himself would, beyond all question, have been a valu- 
able addition to the history of letters ; but his project 
failed. His next expedient was to offer his assistance 
to Cave, the original projector of the Gentleman's 
Magazine. For this purpose he sent his proposals in a 
letter, offering, on reasonable terms, occasionaily to fill 
some pages with poems and inscriptions never printed 
before ; with fugitive pieces that deserved to be revived^ 



GENIUS OF DR. JOIINSOX. 1? 

and critical remarks on authors ancient and modern, 
Cave agreed to retain him as a correspondent and con- 
tributor to the ^Magazine. What the conditions were 
cannot now be known ; but, certainly, they were not suf- 
ficient to hinder Johnson from casting his eyes about 
him in quest of other employment. Accordingly, in 
1735, he made overtures to the reverend Mr. Budworth. 
master of a grammar school at Brerewood, in Stafibrd- 
rshire, to become his assistant. This proposition did not 
succeed. Mr. Budworth apprehended that the involun- 
tary mottens, to which Johnson's nerves were subject, 
might make him an object of ridicule with his scholars, 
and, by consequence,lessen their respect for their master. 
Another mode of adva-ncing himself presented itself 
about this time. Mrs. Porter, the widow of a mercer in 
Birmingham, admired his talents. It is said that she had 
about eight hundred pounds ; and that sum to a person 
in Johnson's circumstances v»^as an affluent fortune. A 
marriage took place, and to turn his wife's money to the 
best advantage, he projected the scheme of an academy 
for education. Gilbert Walmsley, at that lime regis- 
trer of the ecclesiastical court of the bishop of Lich- 
field, was distinguished by his erudition and the polite- 
ness of his manners. He was the friend of Johnson, 
and by his weight and inilucnce, cndcdvoured to promote 
his interest. The celebruted Garrick, whose father, 
captain Garrick, lived at Lichfield, was placed in the 
new seminary of education, by tliat gentlei;:an's advice. 
Garrick was then iibcut eighteen years old. An acces- 
sion of seven or eight pupils was the most that could be 
obtained, though notice was given by a public advertise- 



30 AN" ESSAY ON THE IJFE AND 

nunit,* thai at Eclial, near Lichlicld, in Staffordshire y 
yoiini^- ocntlcmcn arc hoarded and taught the Latin 
and Girek hmguagcs, hy Samuel Johnson. 

Tlie undertaking proved ahortive. Johnson having 
now ahandoned all hopes of promoting his fortune in the 
country, determined to hecome an adventurer in the 
Avorld at large. His young pupil, Garrick, had formed 
the same resolution ; i\nd, accordingly, in March, 1737, 
they arri\'ed in London together. . Two such candidates 
for fame, perhaps, never, before that day, entered the 
metropolis together. Their stock of money was soon 
exhausted. In Km visionary project of an academy John- 
son had probably wasted his \vife's substance ; and 
(iarrick's lather had little more than his half pay. The 
two fellow travellers had the world before them, and 
each was to choose his road to fortune and to fame- 
They brought with them genius, and powers of nnnd, 
pecuharly fonned by nature for the different vocations 
to which each of them felt himself inclined. They act- 
ed from the impulse of young minds, even then meditat- 
ing great things, and with courage anticipating success* 
Their friend Mr. Walmsley, by a letter to the Rev. Mr. 
Colson, who, it seems, was a great mathematician, exerted 
his good offices in their favour. He gave notice of their 
intended joui'ney. " Davy Garrick,'* he said, " will be 
with you next week ; and Johnson, to try his fate with a 
tragedy, and to get himself employed in some translation 
cither from the Latin or French. Johnson is a very 
good scholar and a poet, and, I have great hopes, will 

* Soc Uic (.icutlt;iu!iii''s Alujjazliic, for IToG, p. 418. 



GENIUS OF DR. JOHNSON. 2i 

turn out a fine tragedy writer. If it should be in your 
way, I doubt not but you will be ready to recommend and 
assist your countrymen.'* Of Mr. Walmslcy's merit, 
and the excellence of his character, Johnson has left a 
beautiful testamonial at the end of the Life of Edward 
Smith. It is reasonable to conclude, that a mathemati- 
cian, absorbed in abstract speculations, was not able to find 
a sphere of action for two men who were to be tlie archi- 
tects of their own fortune. In three or four years after- 
wards Garrick came forth with talants that astonished the 
public. Ho began his career at Goodman's fields, and 
there^ monstratusfatis I'cu/iasianus ! he chose a lucrative 
profession, and consequently soon emerged fi'om all his 
eliflicultics. Johnson vv'as left to toil in the humble walks 
of literature. A tragedy, as appears by Walmsley's let- 
ter, was the whole of his stock. This, most probably,^ 
was Irene ; but, if then finished, it was doomed to wait 
for a more happy period. It was offered to Fleetwood* 
and rejected. Johnson looked round him for employment. 
Having, while he remained in the country, corresponded 
with Cave under a feigned name, he now thought it 
time to make himself known to a man whom he con- 
sidered as a patron of literature. Cave had announced, 
by public advertisement, a prize of fifty pounds for the 
best poem on Life, Death, Judgment, Pleaven, and Hell ; 
and this circumstance diffused an idea of his liberality. 
Johnson became connected with him in business, and in 
a close and intimate acquaintance. Of Cave's character 
it is unnecessary to say any thing in this place, as John- 
son was afterwards the biographer of his first and most 
xiseful patron. To be engaged in the translation of some 



22 AN ESSAY ON THE LIFE AND 

important book was still the object which Johnson had iu 
riew. For this purpose he proposed to give the history 
of the Council of Trent, with copious notes, then lately 
added to a French edition. Twelve sheets of this work 
were printed, for which Johnson received forty nine 
pounds, as appears by his receipt in the possession of Mr. 
Nichols, the compiler of that entertaining and useful work, 
the Gentleman's Magazhie. Johnson's translation was 
never completed ; a like design was ofTered to the public, 
under the patronage of Dr. Zachary Pearce ; and by that 
contention both attempts were frustrated. Johnson had 
been commended by Pope for the translation of the Mes- 
siah into Latin verse ; but he knew no approach to so 
eminent a man. With one, however, who was connect- 
ed with Pope, he became acquainted at St. John's Gate j 
and that person was no other than the well known 
Richard Savage, whose life was afterwards written by 
Johnson, v/ith great elegance, and a depth of moral re- 
flection. Savage was a man of considerable talents. 
His address, his various accomplishments, and above all, 
the peculiarity of his misfortunes, recommended him to 
Johnson's notice. They became united in the closest in- 
timacy. Soth had great parts, and they were equally un- 
der the pressure of want. Sympathy joined them in a 
league of friendship. Johnson has been often heard to 
relate, that he and Savage M'aiked round Grosvenor 
square till four in the morning ; in the course of their 
conversation rQforming the world, dethroning princes, 
establishing new forms of government, and giving 
laws to the several states of Europe ; till fatigued at 
length with their legislative office, they began to feel the 



I 



GENirS OF DR. JOIiXSON 

want of refreshment, but could not muster up more than 
four pence halfpenny. Savage, it is true had many 
vices ; but vice could never strike its roots in a mind like 
Johnson's, seasoned early with religion, and the princi- 
ples of moral rectitude. His first prayer was composed 
in the year 1738. He had not at that time renounced the 
use of wine ; and, no doubt, occasionally enjoyed his friend 
and his bottle. The love of late hours, wliich followed 
him through life, was, perhaps, oriL^inally contracted in 
company with Savage. However that may be, their con- 
nection was not of long duration. In the year 1738, Sav- 
age was reduced to the last distress. I\Ir. Pope, hi a 
letter to him, expressed his concern for " the miserable 
withdrawing of his pension after the death of the 
Queen ;" and gave him hopes that, ••* in a short time, he 
should find himself supplied with a competence, v ith- 
out any dependence on those little creatures, whom we 
are pleased to call the Great." The scheme proposed 
to him was, that he should retire to Swansea in Wales, 
and receive an allowance of fifty pounds a year, to be 
raised by subscription ; Pope was to pay twenty pounds. 
This plan, thougli finally established, took more than a 
year before it was carried into execution. In the mean 
t^ime, the intended retreat of Savage cidled to Johnson's 
mind the third Satire of Juvenal, in which that poet takes 
leave of a friend, w ho was withdrawing himself from all 
the vices of Rome. Struck with this idea, he wrote that 
well known Poem, called London. The first lines mani- 
festly point to Savage. 

*'Thoup;]i grief and fondness in my breast rebe^. 
When injur'd ThaJes bids tlic town fiweweU ; 



•n AN ESSAY ON THE LIFE AND 

Yet still my calmer thoughts his choice commend ; 
1 praise the hermit, but regret the friend ; 
Resolv'd at length, from vice and London far, 
To breathe in distant fields a purer air ; 
And fix'd on Cambria's solitary shore, 
Give to St. David one true Bi'iton more." 

Johnson at that time lodged at Greenwich. He there 
iixes the scene, and takes leave of his friend ; who, he 
says in his life, parted from him with tears in his eyes. 
The poem, when finished, was offered to Cave. It hap- 
pened, however, that the late Mr. Dodsley was the pur- 
chaser, at the price of ten guineas. It w^as published m 
1738 ; and Pope, we are told, said, " The author, who- 
ever he is, will not be long concealed ;'* alluding to the 
passage in Terence, Udi, ubi est^ diu celari non fiotest. 
Notwithstanding that prediction, it does not appear that, 
besides the copy money, any advantage accrued to the 
author of a poem, written with the elegance and energy 
of Pope. Johnson, in August 1738, went, with all the 
fame of his poetry, to offer himself a candidate for the 
mastership of the school at Appleby, in Leicestershire. 
The statutes of the place required, that the person cho- 
sen should be a master of arts. To remove this objec- 
tion, the late lord Gower was induced to write to a friend, 
in order to obtain for Johnson a master's degree in the 
University of Dublin, by the recommendation of Dr. 
Swift. The letter was printed in one of the Magazines, 
and was as follows ; 
" Sir, 

" Mr. Samuel Johnson, author of London, a Satire, and 
some other poetical pieces, is a native of this county, 



GENIUS OF DR. JOHNSON. 25 

i-nd much respected by some worthy gentlemen m the 
iieighbourhood, who are trustees of a charity school, now 
vacant ; the certam salary of which is sixty pounds per 
year, of which they are desirous to make him master ; 
but unforttmately he is not capable of receiving their 
bounty, which would make him happy for life, by nor 
being a master of arts, which, by the statutes of the 
school, the master of it must be. 

" Now, these gentlemen do me the honour to think, 
that I have interest enough in you, to prevail upon you 
to write to Dean Swift, to persuade the university of 
Dublin to send a diploma to me, constituting this poor 
man master of arts in their university. They highly 
extol the man's leaniing and probity, and will not be per- 
suaded, that the uni\ersity will make any difficulty 
of conferring such a favour upon a stranger, if he is re- 
commended by the dean. They say he is not afrcdd of 
the strictest examination, though he is of so long a jour- 
ney ; and yet he will venture it, if the dean thinks it ne- 
cessary, choosiney»ther to die upon the road, than to be 
starved to death in translating for booksellers, which has 
been his only subsistence for some time past. 

" I fear there is more difficulty in this affair than these 
good nalured gentlemen apprehend, especially as tlieir 
election cannot be delayed longer than the 11th. of next" 
month. If you sec this matter in the same light that it 
appears to me, I hope you will burn this, and pardon mc 
for giving you so much trouble about an impracticable 
thing; but, if you think there is a probabiHty of obtain- 
ing the favour asked, I am sure your humanity and pro- 
pensity to relieve merit in distress will incline you to 



26 AN ESSAY ON THE LIFE AND 

serve the poor man without iny addmg any more to the 
trouble I have already given you, than assuring you, 
that I am, with great truth, sir, 

" Your very humble servant, 

"Gower/* 
''Titutham,Aug. 1st." 

This scheme miscarried. There is reason to think 
that Swift declined to meddle in the business ; and to 
that circumstance Johnson's known dislike of Swift has 
been often imputed. 

It is mortifying to pursue a man of merit through all 
his difficulties ; and yet this narrative must be, through 
many following years, the history of genius and virtue 
struggling with adversity. Having lost the school at 
Appleby, Johnson was thrown back on the metropolis. 
Bred to no profession, without relations, friends, or in- 
terest, he was condemned to drudgery in the service of 
Cave, his only patron. In November, 1738, was publish- 
ed a translation of Crousaz's Exam-en of Pope's Essay on 
Man ; " containing a succinct view o£^ie system of the 
fatalists, and a confutation of their opinions ; with an il- 
lustration of the doctrine of free will ; and an inquiry, 
what view Mr. Pope might have in touching upon the 
Leibnitzian philosophy, and fatalism. By Mr. Crousaz, 
professor of philosophy and mathematics at Lausanne,*' 
This translation has been generally thought a production 
of Johnson's pen ; but it is now known that Mrs. Eliza- 
beth Carter has acknowledged it to be one of her early 
performances. It is certain, however, that Johnson was 
eager to promote the publication. He considered the 
foreign philosopher as a man zealous in the cause of 



GENIUS or DR. JOIiXSOX. -7 

religion ; and with him he was willing to join against 
the system of the fatalists, and the doctrine of Leib- 
nitz. It is well known that ^Varburton wrote a vin- 
dication of Mr. Pope ; but there is reason to think, that 
Johnson conceived an early prejudice against the Essay 
on Man ; and what once took root in a mind like his, was 
not easily eradicated. His letter to Cave on this subject 
is still extant, and may well justify Sir John Hawkins, 
who inferred that Johnson was the translator of Crousaz. 
The conclusion of the letter is remarkable. *' I am 
yours, Impransus." If by that Latin word was meant 
that he had not dined, because he wanted the means, 
who can read it, even at this hour, without an achini; 
heart ? 

With a mind naturally vigorous, and quickened by ne- 
cessity, Johnson formed a multiplicity of projects ; but 
most of them proved abortive. A number of small tracts 
issued from his pen with wonderful rapidity ; such as 
" M ARMOR NoRFOLciENSE ; or an Essay on an ancient 
prophetical inscription, in monkish rhyme, discovered 
at Lynn in Norfolk. By Probus Bniamncus.'^ This 
was a pamphlet against Sir^obert Walpole. Accordmg 
to Sir John Hawkins, a warrant was issued to apprehend 
the author, who retired with his wife to an obscure lodg- 
ing near Lambeth Marsh, and there eluded the search 
of the messengers. But this story has no foundation in 
truth. Johnson was never known to mention such an 
incident in his life ; and Mr. Steele, late of the treasury, 
caused diligent search to be made at the proper offices, 
and no trace of such a proceeding could be found. In the 
same year, WS9^.the.. lord Chamberlain prohibited the 



•v8 AX ESSAY ON THE LI1£ \SD 

representation of a tragedy, called Gustavus Vasa, by 
Henry Brooke. Under the mask of irony Johnson pub- 
fished, " A Vindication of the Licenser from the mali- 
eious and scandalous aspersions of Mr. Brooke." Of 
these two pieces Sir John Hawkins says, " they have 
neither learning nor v;it ; nor a single ray of that genius 
which has since blazed forth ;" but, as they have been 
lately reprinted, the reader, who wishes to gratify his cu- 
riosity, is referred to the fourteenth volume of Johnson's 
works, published by Stcckdale. The lives of Boerhaave, 
Blake, Barratier, Fatlier Paul, and others, were about 
that time, printed in the Gentleman's Magazine. The 
subscription of fifty pounds a year fo? Savage was com- 
pleted ; and in July, 1739, Johnson parted with the- 
companion of his midnight hours, never to see him 
more. The separation was, perhaps, an advantage to 
him, who wanted to make a right use of his time, and 
even then beheld with self reproach the waste occa- 
sioned by dissipation. His abstinence from wine and 
strong liquors began soon after the departure of Savage. 
What habits he contracted in the course of that acquaint- 
ance cannot now be knownJt* The ambition of excelling 
in conversation, and that pride of victory, which, at times, 
disgraced a man of Johnson's genius, were, perhaps, na- 
tive blemishes. A fierce spirit of independence, e\^n 
in the midst of poverty, may be seen in Savage ; and, if 
not thence transfused by Johnson into his own manners, 
it may, at least, be supposed to have gained strength 
fi-6m the example before him. During that connection 
tlierc was, if we believe Sir John Hawkias, a short sepa- 
ration bctvreen our author and his wife ; but a reconcii* 



GENIUS OP DR. JOHNSON. 

ijition soon took place. Johnson loved her, and shewed 
his affection in various modes of gallantry, which Gar- 
rick used to render ridiculous by his mimicry. The 
affectation of soft and fashionable airs did not become 
an unwieldy figure ; his admiration was received by the 
wife with the flutter of an antiquated coquette ; and 
both, it is well known, furnished matter for the lively 
genius of Garrick. 

It is a mortifying reflection, that Johnson, Avith a store 
of learning and extraordinary talents, was not able, at the 
age of thirty, to force his way to the favour of the public. 
Sloiv lises nvcrth by jioverty defires&'d. " He was still,'' 
"as he says himself, " to provide for the day that was 
passing over him." He saw Cave involved in a state of 
warfare with the numerous competitors, at that time 
struggling with the Gentleman's Magazine ; and grati- 
tude for such supplies as Johnson received dictated a 
Latin ode on the subject of that contention. The first 
lines, 

" Urbane, null's iVsse Inboribus, 
Urbane, nullls victe calumnies," 

y)ut one in mind of Casimir's ode to Pope Urban i 

" Urbane, regnum maximc, maxime 
Urbane vatuni." 

The Polish poet was, probably, at that time in the hands 
of a man who had meditated the history of the Latin po- 
ets. Guthrie the historian had from July, 1736, com- 
posed the parliamentary speeches for the Magazine ; 
but, from the beginning of the session which opened on 
the 19th. of Nov. 1740, Johnson succeeded to that depart- 
ment, and continued it from that time to the debate on spir- 
3* 



3a AN ESSAY ON THE LIFE AND 

itiious liquors, which happened in the house of lords, it ^ 
February, 1742-3. The eloquence, the force of argument, 
and the splendour of language, displayed in the several 
speeches, are well known, and universally admired. The 
whole has been collected in two volumes by Mr. Stock- 
dale, and may form a proper supplement to this edition. 
That Johnson was the author of the debates during that 
period was not generally known ; but the secret trans- 
pired several years afterwards, and was avowed by him- 
self on the following occasion. Mr. Wedderburne, now 
Lord Loughborough,* Dr. Johnson, Dr. Francis, the 
translator of Horace, the present writer, and others, din- - 
ed with the late Mr. Fcote. An important debate to- 
wards the end of Sir Robert Walpole's administration 
being mentioned. Dr. Francis observed, '• That Mr. 
Pitt's speech, on that occasion, v/as the best he had ever 
read." He added, " That he had employed eight years 
of his life in the study of Demosthenes, and finished a 
translation of that celebi'ated orator, with all the decora- 
tions of style and language within the reach of his ca- 
pacity ; but he had met with nothing equal to the speech 
above mentioned." Many of the company remembered 
the debate ; and some passages were cited, with the ap- 
probation and applause of ail present. During the ardour 
of conversation Johnson remained silent. As soon as the 
warmth of praise subsided, he opened with these words ; 
'' That speech I wrote in a garret in Exeter Street." 
The company was struck with astonishment. After 
^:taring at each other in silent amaze, Dr. Francis askeds 

* Afterwards Esy:l of Roslin. He died Jan. 3, 180j 



GENIUS OF Dll. JOHXSOX, 



Si 



' :.. '• 



•' How t]i:\t speech could be wiHtcn by him ?" " Sir, 
safU Johnson, " I wrote it in Exeter Street. I never had 
been in the gallery of the house of commons but once. 
Cave had interest with the doorkeepers. He, and the 
persons employed under him, gained admittance ; they 
brought away the subject of discussion, the names of the 
speakers, the side they took, and the order in which they 
rose, together m ith notes of the arguments advanced in 
the course of the debate. The whole was afterwards 
communicated to me, and I composed the speeches in 
the forn\\vhich they now have in the Parliamentary De- 
bates." To this discovery Dr. Francis made answer ; 
" Then, sir, you have exceeded Demosthenes himself ; 
for to say, that you have exceeded Francis's Demosthe- 
nes, would be saying nothing." The rest of the com- 
pany bestowed lavish encomiums on Johns«n ; one, in 
particular, praised his impartiality ; observing, that he 
dealt out reason and eloquence with an equal hand to 
both parties. *' That is not quite true," said Johnson ; 
" 1 saved appearances tolerably well ; but I took care 
that the whig dogs should not have the best of it." The 
sale of the Magazine was greatly increased by the Par- 
liamentary Debates, which were continued by Johnson 
till the month of March, 1742-3. From that time the 
Magazine was conducted by Dr. Hawkesworth. 

In 174p-4, Osborne, the bookseller, who kept a shop 
in Gray's Inn, purchased the Earl of Oxford's library, £.t 
the price of thirteen thousand pounds. He projected a 
catalogue in five octavo volumes, at five shiiiings each. 
Johnson was employed in that painful ch'udgeiy. He 
was likewise to collect all such small tracts as were in 



32 AX ESSAY OX THE LIFE AXD 

any degree worth preserving, in order to reprint and pub- 
lish the whole in a collection, called " The Harld!!an 
Miscellany." The catalogue was completed ; and the 
Miscellany, in 1749, was published in eight quarto vol- 
umes. In this business Johnson ^vas a day labourer for 
immediate subsistence, not unlike Gustavus Vasa, work- 
ing in the mines of Dalicarlia. What Wilcox, a booksel- 
ler of eminence in the Strand, said to Johnson, on his first 
arrival in town, was now almost confirmed. He lent oui* 
author five guineas, and then asked him, " How do you 
mean to earn your livelihood in this town ?'* " By my 
literary labours," was the answer. Wilcox, staring at 
him, shook his head ; " By your literary labours ! You 
had better buy a porter's knot." Johnson used to tell 
this anecdote to Mr. Nichols ; but he said, " Wilcox 
was one of my best friends, and he meant well." In fact, 
Johnson, while employed m Gray's Inn, may be said to 
have carried a porter's knot. He paused occasionally 
to peruse the book that came to his hand. Osborne 
thought that such curiosity tended to nothing but delay, 
and objected to it with all the pride and insolence of a 
man^ who knew that he paid daily wages. In the dis- 
pute that of course ensued, Osborne, with that roughness 
which was natural to him, enforced his argument by 
giving the lie. Johnson seized a folio, and knocked the 
bookseller down. This story has been related as an in- 
stance of Johnson's ferocity ; but merit cannot always 
take the spurns of the unworthy with a patient spirit.* 

* Mr. Boswell says, " The simple truth I had from Johnson 
}iimself. *Sir, he was impcitinent to me, and I beat him. But it 
"was not in his shop ; it was in my own chamber." 



GENICS OF DR. JOHNSO^r 33 

That the history of an author must be found in his 
%vork3 is, in general, a true observation ; and was never 
more apparent than in the present narrative. Every era 
qf Johnson's life is fixed by his writings. In 1744, he 
published the life of Savage ; a.nd then projected a new 
edition of Shakspeare. As a prelude to this design, he 
published in 1745, Miscellaneous Observu ions on the 
Tragedy of Macbeth^ idth Remarks on Sir Thomas Han^ 
mers edition ; to ivhich nuere firejixed^ Profiosals for a 
jieiv Edition of Shaksfieare, ivith a specimen. Of tliis 
pamphlet Warburton, in the preface to Shakspeare, has 
given his opinion ; " As to all those things, which have 
been published under the title of Essays, Remarks, Ob- 
servations, SvC. on Shakspeare, if you except some criti- 
cal notes on JSIacbi^th^ given as a specimen of a 
projected edition, and written, as appears, by a man 
of parts and genius, the rest are absolutely below a se- 
rious notice." But the attention of the public was not 
excited ; there was no friend to promote a subscription ; 
and the project died to revive at a future day. A new 
undertaking, however, was soon after proposed ; namely, 
an English Dictionary upon an enlarged plan. Several 
of the most opulent booksellers had meditated a work of 
this kind ; and the agreement was soon adjusted between 
the parties. Emboldened by this connection, Johnson 
thought of a better habitation than he had hitherto known. 
He had lodged with his wife in courts and alleys about 
the Sirand ; but now, for the purpose of carrying on 
his arduous undertaking, and to be nearer his printer and 
friend Mr. Strahan, he ventured to take a liouse in 
Gough Square, Fleet Street. He was told that the Esirl 



k 



34 AN ESSAY ON THE LIFE AND 

of Chesterfield was a friend to his undertaking ; and in 
consequence of that intelligence, he published, in 1747, 
The Plan of a Dictionary of the English Language^ ad" 
dressed to the Right Honourable Philip Dormer^ Earl of 
Chesterfield^ one of his Majesiy^s principal SecretaHes of 
State. Mr. Whitehead, afterwards Poet Laureat, un- 
dertook to convey the manuscript to his lordship ; the 
consequence was an invitation from Lord Chesterfield to. 
the author. A stronger contrast of characters could not 
be brought together ; the nobleman celebrated for his wit,, 
and all the graces of polite behaviour ; the author, con- 
scious of his own merit, towering in idea above all compe- 
tition, versed in scholastic logic, but a stranger to the arts 
of polite conversation, vmcouth, vehement, and vociferous. 
The coalition was too unnatural. Johnson expected a 
!Mecenas, and was disappointed. No patronage, no as- 
sistance followed. Visits were repeated ; but the re- 
ception was not cordial. Johnson one day was left a full 
hour, waiting in an anti chamber, till a gentleman should 
retire, and leave his lordship at leisure. This was the 
famous CoUey Cibber. Johnson saw him go, and fired 
with indignation, rushed out of the house.* What Lord 
Chesterfield thought of his visitor may be seen in a pas- 
sage in one of that nobleman's letters to his son.f 
" There is a man, whose moral character, deep learning, 
and superior parts, I acknowledge, admire, and respect ; 
but whom it is so ipo;»ossible for me to love, that I am 
almost in a fever whvf-ftiver I am in his company. His 

* Ur- Johnson denies the whole of this story. See Boswell's 
Life, vf.l. i.*p. 128. Oct. Edit 1804. C 

t Letter CCXllv 



GENIUS OF DR. JOHNSON. . 35 

figure, without being deformed, seems made to disgrace 
or ridicule the common structure of the human body. 
His legs and arms are never in the position which, ac- 
cording to the situation of his body, they ought to be in, 
but constantly employed in committing acts of hostility up- 
on the graces. He throws any where,^.but down his throat, 
whatever he means to drink; and mangles what he 
means to carve. Inattentive to all the regaixls of social 
life, he mistimes, and misplaces every thing. He dis- 
putes with heat indiscriminately, mindless of tlie rank? 
character, and situation of those with whom he disputes. 
Absolutely ignorant of the several gradations of familiar- 
ity and respect, he is exactly the same to his su, eriors, 
his equals, and his inferiors ; and therefore, by ■»- neces- 
sary consequence, is absurd to two of the three. Is it 
possible to love such a man ? No. The utmost I can 
do for him is, to consider him a respectable Hottentot." 
Such was the idea entertained by Lord Chesterfield. 
After the incident of Colley Gibber, Johnson never re- 
peated his visits. In his high and decisive tone, he has 
been often heard to say, " Lerd Chesterfield is a wit 
among the lords, and a lord among the wits." 

In the course of the year 1747, Garrick, in conjunct 
tion with Lacy, became patentee of Drury Lane play- 
house. For the opening of the theatre, at the usual 
time, Johnson wrote for his friend the well known pro- 
logue, which, to say no more of it, may at least be placed 
on a level with Pope's, to the tragedy of Cato. The 
playhouse being now under Garrick's direction, Johnson 
thought the opportunity fair to think of his tragedy of 
^rene, which Was his whole stock on his first arrival m 



36 AN ESSAY ON THE LIFE AND 

town, in the year 1737. That play was accordingly put 
into rehearsal in January, 1749. As a precursor to pre- 
pare the way, and to awaken the public attention, The 
Vanity of Human Wishes^ a Poem in Imitation of the 
Tenth Satire of Juvenal, by the author of London^ was 
published in the same month. In the Gentleman's 
Magazine, for February, 1749, we find that the tragedy 
of Irene was acted at Drury I^ane, on Monday, February 
the 6th. and from that time, without interruption, to Mon- 
day, February the 20th. being in all thirteen nights. 
Since that time it has not been exhibited on any stage. 
Irene may be added to some other plays in our language, 
which have lost their place in the theatre, but continue 
to please in the closet. During the representation of 
this piece, Johnson attended every night behind the 
scenes. Conceiving that his character as an author re- 
([uired some ornament for his person, he chose, upon that 
occasion, to decorate himself with a handsome waistcoat, 
and a gold laced hat. The late Mr. Topham Beau- 
clerc, who had a great deal of that humour which pleases 
the more for seeming undesigned, used to give a pleas- 
ant description of this green room finery, as related by 
the author himself ; " But," said Johnson, with great 
gravity, " I soon laid aside my gold laced hat, lest 
It should make me proud.*' The amount of the three 
benefit nights for(|he tragedy of Irene ^ it is to be feared, 
was not very considerable, as the profit, that stimulating 
motive, never invited the author to another dramatic at- 
tempt. Som^e years afterwards, when the present writer 
was intimate with Garrick, and knew Johnson to be in 
distress, he asked the manager why he did wot produce 



GESnUS OF mi. JOHNSOX, -^ 

another tragedy for his Lichfield friend ? Gari ick's an - 
s^ver was remarkable ; " When Johnson writes tragedy^ 
declamation roars, and pamon clecfis ; when Shakspeare 
wrote, he dipped his pen in his own heart." 

There may, perhaps, be a degree of s?.meness in this 
regular way of tracing an author from one work to an- 
other, «.nd the reader may feel the effect of a tedious 
monotony ; but in the life of Johnson there are no other 
landmarks. He was now forty years old, ai^.d had mixed 
but little with the world. He followed no profession, 
transacted no business, and was a stranger to what is 
called a tov/n life. We are now arrived at the brightest 
period he had hitherto known. His name broke out 
upon mankind with a degree of lustre that promised li 
triumph over all his difficulties. The Life of Savage 
was admired as a beautiful and instructive piece of biog- 
raphy. The two Imitations of Juvenal were thought to 
rival even the excellence of Pope ; and the tragedy of 
Irene, though uninteresting on the stage, was universally 
admired in the closet, for the propriety of the senti- 
ments, the richness of the language, and the general 
harmony of the whole composition. His fume was 
widely diffused ; and he had made his agreement with 
the booksellers for his English Dictionary at the sum of 
fifteen hundred gummas ; part of which was to be, froni 
time to time, advanced in proportion to the progress 
of the work. This v/as a certain fund for his sup- 
port, without being obliged to write fugitive pieces for 
the petty supplies of the day. Accordingly we find that, 
in 1749, he established a club, consisting often in num- 
ber, at Horseman's, in Ivy Lanc; on every Tuesday ca c- 
VOL. I. 4 



33^ AN ESSAY ON THE LIFE AND 

tiing. This is the first scene of social life to which 
Johnson can be traced out of his own house. The 
members of this little society were, Samuel John- 
son ; Dr. Salter, father of the late master of the 
Charter House ; Dr, Hawkesworth ; Mr. Ryland, a 
merchant ; IVIr. Payne, a bookseller, in Paternoster row ; 
Mr. Samuel Dyer, a learned young man ; Dr. William 
M'Ghie, a Scotch physician ; Dr. Edmund Barker, a 
young physician ; Dr. Bathurst, another young physi- 
cian ; and Sir John Hawkins. This list is given by Sir 
John, as it should seem, with no other view than to draw 
a spiteful and malevolent character of almost every one 
of them, Mr. Dyer, whom Sir John says he loved with 
the affection of a brother, meets with the harshest treat- 
ment, because it was his maxim, that to live in peace 
with mankind^ and in a temper to do good offices^ 
ivas the most essential part of our duty. That notion of 
moral goodness gave umbrage to Sir John Hawkins, 
and drew down upon the memory of his friend the bit- 
terest imputations. Mr. Dyer, however, was admired 
and loved through life. He was a man of literature. 
Johnson loved to enter with him into a discussion of 
metaphysical, moral, and critical subjects ; in those con- 
flicts, exercising his talents, and, according to his cus- 
tom, always contending for victory. Dr. Bathurst was 
the person on whom Johnson fixed his affection. He 
hardly ever spoke of him without tears in his eyes. It 
was from him, who was a native of Jamaica, that John- 
son received into his service, Frank,* the black servant, 
■\thom, on account of his master, he valued to the end of 
* Sec Gent. Mag. vol.Ixxi. p. 190. 



^i 



GENIUS or DR. .lOHNSON. 39 

his life. At the time of instituting the club in Ivy Lane, 
Johnson had projected the Rambler. The title was most 
probably suggested by the IVanderer ; a poem which he 
mentions, with the warmest praise, in the Life of Sav- 
age. With the same spirit of independence with which 
he wished to live, it was now his pride to write. He 
communicated his plan to none of his friends ; he desir- 
ed no assistance, relying entirely on his own fund, and 
the protection of the Divine Being, which he implored 
in a solemn form of prayer, composed by himself for the 
occasion. Having formed a resolution to undertake a 
work that might be of use and honour to his coutitiy, he 
thought, with Milton, that this was not to be obtained 
" but by devout prayer to that Eternal Spirit that can en- 
rich with all utterance and knoA^ledge, and send out his 
seraphim with the hallowed fire of his altar, to touch and 
purify the lips of whom he pleases." 

Having invoked the special protection of Heaven, and 
by that act of piety fortified his mind, he began the great 
work of the Rambler. The first number was published 
on Tuesday, March the 20th. 1750 ; and from that time 
was continued regularly every Tuesday and Saturday for 
the space of two years, when it finally cloc-ed, on Saturday, 
March 14th. 1752. As it began with motives of piety, 
so it appears that the same religious spirit glowed with 
unabating ardour to the last. His conclusion is ; " The 
Essays professedly serious, if I have been able to execute 
my own intentions, will be found exactly conformable to 
the precepts of Christianity, without any accommodation 
to the licentiousness and levity of the present age. I 
therefore look back on this part of my work with plea- 



40 .v^ ESSAY ON TIIK IJFE AKD 

oiire, which no man shall diminish cr augment. I shall 
never envy the honours Avhich wit and learning obtain in 
any other cause, if I can be numbered among the wri- 
ters who have given ardour to virtue, and confidence to 
truth." The whole number of Essays amounted to tv/o 
hundred and eight. Addison's, in the Spectator, are 
more in number, but not half in point of quantity ; Ad- 
dison was not bound to publish on stated days ; he could 
watch the ebb and flow of his genius, and send his pa- 
per to the press when his own taste Avas satisfied. John- 
son's case was very different. He wrote singly and alone. 
In the whole progress of the work he did not receive more 
than ten essays. This was a scanty contribution. For the 
rest,thie author has described his situation. " He that con- 
demns himself to compose on a stated day, will often bring 
to his task an attention dissipated, a memory embarrassed, 
an imagination overwhelmed, a mind distracted with anxie- 
ties, a body languishing with disease ; he will labour on 
a barren topic, till it is too late to change it ; or, in the 
ardour of invention, diffuse his thoughts into wild exuber- 
ance, whicli the pressing hour of publication cannot suffer 
judgment to examine or reduce." Of this excellent 
production the number sold on eath day did not amount 
to five hundred ; of course the bookseller, who paid 
the author four guineas a week, did not carry on a suc- 
cessful trade. His generosity and perseverance deserve 
to be commended ; and happily when the collection ap- 
peared in volumes, were amply rewarded. Johnson lived 
to see his labours flourish in a tenth edition. His pos- 
terity, as an ingenious French writer has said on a simi; 
lar occasion, bec^an in his lifetime. 



GEXIUS OF DR. JOHNSON. 4i 

In the beginning of 1750, soon after the Rambler 
was set on foot, Johnson was induced by the arts of a 
vile impostor to lend his assistance, during a temporary 
delusion, to a fraud not to be paralleled in the annals of 
literature.* One Lauder, a native of Scotland, who 
had been a teacher in the University of Edinburgh, had 
conceived a mortal antipathy to the name and character 
of Milton. His reason was, because the prayer of Pa- 
mela, in Sir Philip Sidney's Arcadia, was, as he sup- 
posed, maliciously inserted by the great poet in an edi- 
tion of the Eikon Basilike, in order to fix an imputa- 
tion of impiety on the memory of the murdered king. 
Paired with resentment, and willing to reap the profits of 
a gross imposition, this man collected from several Latin 
poets, such as Mascnius the Jesuit, Staphorstiusa Dutch 
divine, Beza, and others, all such passages as bore any kind 
of resemblance to different places m the Paradise Lost ; 
and these he published from time to time, in the Gentle- 
man's Magazine, with occasional interpolations of lines, 
which he himself translated from Milton. Tlie public 
credulity swallowed all with eagerness ; and Milton was 
supposed to be guiltycf plagiarism from inferior modem 
writers. The fraud succeeded so well, that Lauder collect- 
ed the whole into a volume, and advertised it under the 
title of " An Essay on Milton s Use and Imitation of the 
Moderns^ in his Paradise Lost ;. dedicated to the Universities 
of Oxford and Ca?ndridge" While the book was in the 
press, the proof sheets were shewn to Johnson at the Ivy 

* It has since been paralleled, in the case of the Shakspeare 
MSS. by a yet more Tile impostor. C. 

4* 



4^ AX ESSAY ON THE LIFE AND 

Lane club, by Payne, the bookseller, who was one of the 
members. No man in that society v/as in possession of 
the authors from whom Lauder professed to make his 
extracts. Th6 charge was believed, and the contriver 
of it found his way to Johnson, who is represented by 
Sir John Hawkins, not indeed as an accomplice in the 
fraud, but through motives of malignity to Milton, delight- 
ing in the detection, and exulting that the poet's reputa- 
tion would suffer by the discovery. More malice to a 
deceased friend cannot well be imagined. Hawkins 
adds, " that he nvhhed ivell to the argument ?nust be ivfer- 
red from the fireface^ ivhich indulitably ivas Kvritten b]j 
him.'* The preface, it is well known, was written by 
Johnson, and for that reason is inserted in this edition. 
But if Johnson approved of the argument, it was no long- 
er than while he believed it founded in truth. Let us- 
advert to his own words in that very preface. " Among 
ihe inquiries to which the ardour of criticism has natur- 
ally given occasion, none is more obscure in itself, or 
more worthy of rational curiosity, than a retrospection 
of the progress of this mighty genius in the construction 
of his work ; a view of the fabric gradually rising, per- 
haps from small beginnings, till its foundation rests in 
the centre, and its turrets sparkle in the skies ; to trace • 
back the structure, through all its varieties, to the sim- 
plicity of the first plan ; to find what was projected, 
whence the scheme was taken, how it was improve^, by 
what assistance it was executed, and from what stores the 
materials were collected ; whether its founder dug them 
from the quarries of nature, or demolished other build- 
ings to embellish his own." These \yere the motives 



GENIUS OF D'd. JOHNSON. 45 

that induced Johnson to assist Lauder Vrith a preface ; 
and are not these the motives of a critic and a scholar ? 
What reader of taste, what man of real knoAvledge, 
>vT)uld not think his time well employed in an inquiry so 
curious, so interesting, and instructive ? If Lauder's 
facts were really true, who w-ould not be glad, without 
the smallest tincture of malevolence, to receive real in- 
formation ? It is painful to be thus obliged to vindicate 
a man who, in his heart, towered above the petty arts of 
fraud and imposition, against an injudicious biographer, 
who undertook to be his editor, and the protector of his 
memory. Another writer. Dr. Towers, in an Essay on 
ihc Life iuid Character of Dr. Jolinson, seems to counter 
nance this calumny. He says. It can hardly be doubted, 
but that Johnso7i*s ar>ersion to Alilton's /wiitics nvas the 
cause of that alacrity rJih which he joined rjith Lauder in 
his infa?7io:is attack oji our great epic /loet, and nvhich in- 
duced him to assist in that transaction. These words 
would seem to describe an accomplice, were they not 
immediately followed by an express declaration that John- 
son was unacquainted ivith the imfiosture. Dr. Towers 
adds. It seems to have been by nvay of making some com- 
fiensation to the inemory of Milton, for the share he had in 
the attack of Lauder, that Johnson ivrote the Prologue, 
s/ioken by Garrick, at Drury Lane theatre, 1750, on the 
performance of the Masque of Comus, for the benefit of 
Milton^s grand daughter. Dr. Towers is not free from 
prejudice ; but, as Shakspeare has it, " he begets a tem- 
perance to give it smoothness." He is, therefore enti- 
tled to a dispassionate answer. When Johnson wrote 
the prologue, it does not appear that he was aware of the 



44 AN ESSAY ON THE LIFE AND 

malignant artifices practised by Lauder. In the post- 
script to Johnson's preface, a subscription is proposed, 
for relieving the grand daughter of the author of Paradise 
Lost. Dr. Towers will agree that tiiis shews Johnson's 
alacrity in doing good. That alacrity shewed itself again 
in the letter printed in the European Magazine, January, 
1785, and there said to have appeared originally in the 
Creneral Advertiser, 4th. April, 1750, by which the pub- 
lic were invited to embrace the opportunity of paying a 
just regard to the illustrious dead, united with the plea- 
sure of doing good to the living. The letter adds, " To 
assist industrious indigence, struggling with distress, and 
debilitated by age, is a display of virtue, and an acquisition, 
ofhappiness and honour. Whoever, therefore, would be 
thought capable of pleasure in reading the works of our 
incomparable Milton, and not so destitute of gratitude as to 
refuse to lay out a trifle, in a rational and elegant entertain- 
ment, for the benefit of his living remains, for the exercise 
of their own virtue, the increase of their reputation, and 
the consciousness of doing good, should appear atDrury 
Lane theatre, tomorrow, April 5, when Comus will be 
performed for the benefit of Mrs. Elizabeth Foster, 
grand daughter to the author, and the only surviving 
branch of his family* Nota benc^ there will be a new pro- 
logue on the occasion, written by the author of Irene, and 
spoken by Mr. Garrick." The man who had thus ex- 
erted himself to serve the grand daughter, cannot be 
supposed to have entertained personal malice to the 
grand fatlier. It is true, that the malevolence of Lau- 
der, as well as the impostures of Archibald Bower, 



feiBNicTO OP r>n. JOHNSON. 45 

^vere fully detected by the labours, in the cause of truthj 
of tlic Rev. Dr. Douglas, now Lord Bishop of Salisbuiy^ 

"Diram qui contudit Hydram, 

Notaqiie futali portenta labore subegit." 

But the pamphlet, entitled, Milton vindicated from the 
charge of Plagiarism brought against him by Air. Lauder -, 
and Lauder himself convicted of several Forgeries and 
gross Lnpofitions ujion the Public^ by John Douglas, M.j4. 
Rector of Eaton Constantirie, Salop, was not published 
till the year 1751. In that work, p. 77, Dr. Douglas 
says, " 'It is to be hoped, nay, it is expected, that the ele- 
j^ant and nervous writer, whose judicious sentiments and 
inimitable style point out the author of Lauder's preface 
and postscript, will no longer allow a man Xa plume him" 
self with his feathers, who appears so little to have de- 
served his assistance, an assistance which I am persuaded 
would never have been communicated, had there been 
the least suspicion of those facts, which I have been the 
instrument of conveying to the world." We have here 
a contemporary testimony to the integrity of Dr. John- 
son throughout the whole of that vile transaction. What 
was the consequence of the requisition made by Dr. 
Douglas ? Johnson, whose ruling passion may be said to 
be the love of truth, convinced Lauder, that it would be 
more to his interest to make a full confession of his 
guilt, than to stand forth the convicted champion of a lie ; 
and for this purpose he drew up, in the strongest terms, a 
recantation in a letter to the Rev. Mr. Douglas, wliich 
Lauder signed, and pubUshcd in the year 1751. That 
piece will remain a lasting memorial of the abhorrence 



with which Johnson beheld a violation of truth. Mr. 
Nichols, whose attachment to his illustrious friend was 
unwearied, shewed him, in 1780, a book, called Bemark^ 
on Jo/inso7i's Life ofMiltouy in which the affair of Lauder 
was renewed with virulence, and a poetical scale in the 
Literary Magazine, 1758, when Johnson had ceased to 
write in that collection, was urged as an additional proof 
of deliberate malice. He read the libellous passage 
with attention, and instantly wrote on the margin ; " In 
the business of Lauder I v/as deceived, partly by think- 
ing the man too frantic to be fraudulent. Of the poet- 
ical scale quoted from the Magazine I am not the author. 
I fancy it was put in after I had quitted that work ; for I 
not only did not write it, but I do not remember it." As 
a critic and a scholar, Johnson was willing to receive 
what numbers at the time believed to be true informa* 
tion ; when he found that the whole was a forgery, he 
renounced all connection with the author. 

In March, 1752, he felt a severe stroke of affliction in 
the death of his wife. The last number of the Rambler, 
as already mentioned, was on the 14th. of that month. 
The loss of Mrs. Johnson was then approaching, and 
probably, was the cause that put an end to those admira- 
ble periodical essays. It appears that she died on the 
28th. of March ; in a memorandum, at the foot of the 
Prayers and Meditations, that is called her Dying Day. 
She was buried at Bromley, under the care of Dr. 
HaWkesworth. Johnson placed a Latin inscription on 
her tomb, in which he celebrated her beauty. With the 
singularity of his prayers for his deceased wife, froiT 
that time to the end of his days, the world is sufficiently 



GENIUS OF DR. JOJmsON. 47 

acquaintecU On Easter day, 22d. April, 1764, his mem« 
orandum says ; " Thought on Tetty, poor dear Tetty ; 
with my eyes full. Went to church. After sermon I 
recommended Tetty in a prayer by herself ; and my fa- 
ther, mother, brother, and Bathurst, in another, I did 
it only once, so far as it might be lawful for me." In a 
prayer, January 23, 1759, the day on which his mother 
was buried, he commends as far as may be lawful, her 
soul to God, imploring for her whatever is most benefi- 
cial to her present state. In this habit he persevered to 
the end of his days. The Rev» Mr. Strahan, the editor 
of the Prayers and Meditations, observes, " That John- 
son, on some occasions, prays that the Almighty maii 
have had mercy on his wife and Mr. Thrale ; evidently 
supposing their sentence to have been already passed -in 
the Divine mind ; and by consequence, proving, that he 
had no belief in a state of purgatory, and no reason for 
praying for the dead that could impeach the sincerity 
of his profession as a protcstant.'* Mr. Strahan adds, 
" That in praying for the regretted tenants of the 
grave, Johnson conformed to a practice which has been 
retained by many learned members of the established 
church, though the liturgy no longer admits it. If ivhere. 
the treefallethy there it shall be ; if our state, at the close 
of life, is to be the measure of our final sentence, then 
prayers for the dead, being visibly fruitless, can be re- 
garded only as the vain oblations of superstition. But of 
all superstitions this, perhaps, is one of the least unamia- 
ble, and the most incident to a good mind. If our sen- 
sations of kindness be intense, those, whom we have 
revered and loved, death cannot wholly seclude from our 



48 AN ESSA^ 0"N TllL LllE AND 

concern. It is true, for the reason just mentioned, sucii 
evidences of our surviving affection may be tho.ught ill 
judged ; but surely they are generous, and some natural 
tenderness is due even to a superstition, v.hich thus 
originates in piety and benevolence." These sentences, 
extracted from the Rev. Mr. Strahan's preface, if they 
are not a full justification, are, at least, a beautiful apol- 
ogy. It will not be improper to add what Johnson him- 
self has said on the subject. Being asked by Mr. Bos- 
well,* what he thought of purgatory, as believed by the 
Roman Catholics ? His answer was, " It is a very harm.- 
less doctrine. They are of opinion, that the generality 
of mankind are neither so obstinately wicked as to de- 
serve everlasting punishment ; nor so good as to merit 
being admitted into the society of blessed spirits j and, 
{herefore, that God is graciously pleased to allov/ a mid- 
dle stale, Avhere they may be purified by certain degrees 
of suffering. You see there is noihing unreasonable in 
this ; and it it be once established that there are souls in 
purgatory, it is as proper to pray for them, as for our 
brethren of mankind Avho arc yet in this life." This 
was Dr. Johnson's guess into futurity ; and to guess is 
the utmost that man can do. Shadc^ws, clouds, and dark- 
■72essj rest ufwn it, 

Mrs. Johnson left a daughter, Lucy Porter, by her first 
husband. She had contracted a friendship with Mrs. 
Anne Williams, the daughter of Zachary Williams, a 
physician of eminence in South Wales, who had devoted 
more than thirty years of a long life to the study of the 

* Life of JoUusoi), Vol. I. p. 328. ko. edition 



CEXIUS or DR. JOIIXSOK ^^ 

icngitude, and was thought to have made great advances 
towards that important discovery. His letters to Lord 
Halifax, and the lords of the admiralty, partly corrected 
and partly written by Dr. Johnson, are still extant in the 
hands of Mr. Nichols.* We there find Dr. Williams, 
in the. eighty third year of his age, stating, that he had 
prepared an instrument, which might be called an epi- 
tome or miniature of the terraqueous globe, shewing, with 
the assistance of tables constructed by himself, the vari- 
ations of the magnetic needle, and ascertaining the lon- 
gitude for, the safety of navigation. It appears that this 
scheme had been referred to Sir Isaac Newton ; but 
that great philosopher excusing himself on account of 
his advanced age, all applications were useless till 1751, 
when the subject was referred, by order of Lord Anson, 
to Dr. Bradley, the celebrated professor of astronomy. 
His report was unfavourable,! though it allows that a 
considerable progress had been made. Dr. Williams, 
after all his labour and expense, died in a short time af- 
ter, a melancholy instance of unrewarded merit. His 
daughter possessed uncommon talents, and, though blind, 
had an alacrity of mind that made her conversation 
agreeable, and even desirable. To relieve and appease 
melancholy reflections, Johnson took her home to his 
house in Gough Square. In 1755, Garrick gave her a 
benefit play, which produced two hundred pounds. In 
1766, she published, by subscription, a quarto volume of 
Miscellanies, and increased her little stock to three hun- 

* See Gentleman's Magazine for Nov. and Dec. ITS'. 
t See Gentleman's Magazine, for Dec. 1787, p. 1042. 
VOL. 1. 5 



50 AN ESSAY ON THE LIFE AND 

dred pounds. That fund, with Johnson's protectioiij 
supported her through the remamder of her life. 

During the two years in which the Rambler was 
carried on, the Dictionary proceeded by slow degrees. 
In May, 1752, having composed a prayer preparatory to 
his return from tears and sorrow to the duties of life, he 
resumed his grand design, and went on with vigor, giv- 
ing, however, occasional assistance to his friend Dr. 
Hawkeswotth in the Adventurer, which began soon after 
the Rambler was laid aside. Some of the most valua- 
ble essays in that collection were from the pen of John - 
son. The Dictionary was completed tov/ards the end 
of 1754 ; and. Cave being then no more, it was a morti^ 
fication to the author of that noble addition to our lan- 
guage, that his old friend did not live to see the triumph 
of his labours. In May 1755, that great work was pub- 
lished. Johnson was desirous that it should come £rom 
one who had obtained academical honours ; and for that 
purpose his friend, the Rev. Mr. Thomas Warton, ob- 
tained for him, in the preceding month of February, a 
diploma for a master's degree from the University of 
Oxford. Garrick, on the publication of the Dictionary, 
wrote tht following lines ; 

" Talk of war Avith a Briton, he'll boldly advance, 

That one English soldier can beat ten of France. 

Would we alter the boast from the sword to the pen, 

Our odds are still greater, still greater our men. 

In the deep mines of science though Frenchmen may toil. 

Can their strength be compar'd to Locke, Newton, or Boyle * 

Let them rally their heroes, send forth all their pow'rs. 

Their verscmcn and prosomeo, then match them with onrs 



GENIUS OF DR. JOHNSON. 51 

^h'st Shakspcare and Milton, like gods in the fight, 
Have put their a\ hole drama «nd epic to flight. 
In satires, epistles, and odes would they cope ? 
Their numbei's retreat before Dryden and Pope. 
And Johnson well arm'd, like a hero of yore, 
Has beat forty French, and will beat forty more-" 

It is, perhaps, needless to mention, that forty was the 
number of the French academy, at the time when their 
dictionary was published to settle their language. 

In the course of the winter preceding this grand pub- 
lication, the late Earl of Chesterfield gave two essays in 
the periodical paper, called The World, dated No- 
vember 28, and December 5, 1754, to prepare the pub- 
lic for so important a work. The originaJ plan, ad- 
dressed to his lordship in the year 1747, is there men- 
tioned in terms of the highest praise ; and this was un- 
derstood, at the time, to be a courtly way of soliciting a 
dedication of the Dictionary to himself. Johnson treated 
this civility with disdain. He said to Garrick and oth- 
ers, " I have sailed a long and painful voyage round the 
M'orld of the English language ; and does he now send out 
two cockboats to tow me into harbour ?" He had said, 
in the last number of the Rambler, " that having labour- 
ed to maintain the dignity of virtue, I will not now de- 
grade it by the meanness of dedication." Such a man 
when he had finished his Dictionary, " not," as he says 
himself, " in the soft obscurities of retirem.ent, or under 
the shelter of academic bowers, but amidst inconvenience 
and distraction, in sickness and in sorrow, and without 
the patronage of the great," was not likely to be caught 
bv the hire thrown out by I^ord Chesterfield. He had 



52 AN ESSAY ON THE LIFE AND 

in vain sought the patronage of that nobleman ; and his 
pride, exasperated by disappointment, drew from him the 
following letter, dated in the month of February, 1755. 

" to the right honourable the earl of chesterfield. 

"My Lord, 

" I have been lately informed, by the proprietors of 
The World, that two papers, in which my Dictionary is 
recommended to* the public, v.ere written by your lord- 
ship. To be so distinguished is an honour which, being 
very little accustomed to favours from the great, I know 
not well how to receive, or in what terms to acknowl- 
edge. 

" When upon some slight encouragement, I first vis- 
ited your lordship, I was overpowered, like the rest of 
mankind, by the enchantment of your address, and could-, 
not forbear to wish, that I might boast myself le vainqueur 
du vainqueur de le terre ; that I might obtain that re- 
gard for which I saw the worid contending. But I found 
my attendance so little encouraged, that neither pride nor 
modesty would suffer me to continue it. W^hcn I had 
once addressed your lordship in public, I exhausted all 
the art of pleasing, which a retired and uncourtly schol- 
ar can possess. I had done all that 1 could ; and no 
man is well pleased to have his all neglected, be it ever 
so little. 

" Seven years, my lord, have now passed since I 
waited in your outward room, or was repulsed from your 
door ; during which time I have been pushing on my 
work through difficulties, of which it is useless to com- 



GENIUS OF DR. JOHNSON. 5^ 

pliiin, and have brought it at last to the verge of publica* 
tion, vvitliout one act of assistance, one word of encour- 
agement, or one smile of favour. Such treatment I did 
not expect, for I never had a patron before. 

" The Shepherd in Virgil grew acquainted with love. 
and found him a native of the rocks. 

" Is not a patron, my lord, one who looks with uncon- 
corn on a man struggling for life in the water, and, 
when he has reached ground, encumbers him with help ? 
The notice which you have been pleased to take of my 
labours, had it been early, had been kind ; but it has 
been delayed till I am indifferent, and cannot enjoy it ; 
till I am solitaiy, and cannot impart it ; till I am known, 
and do not want it. I hope it is no very cynical asperity 
not to confess obligations where no benefit has been re- 
ceived ; or to be unwilling that the public should con« 
sider me as owing that to a patron, vrhich Providence has 
enabled me to do for myself. 

" Having carried on my work thus far with so little 
obligation to any favourer of learning, I shall not be dis- 
appointed, though I should conclude it, if less be possi- 
ble, with less ; for I have been long wakened from that 
dream of hope, in which I once boasted myself with so 
much exultation, 

" My L6RD, 

" your lordship's most humble 
" and most obedient servant, 

" Samuel Johnson/* 

It is Slid, upon good authority, that Johnson once re- 
:eived from Lord Chesterfield the sum of ten pounds, 

5* 



64 AX ESSAY OX THE LIFE AXD 

It ^vere to be wished that the secret had never transpired. 
It was mean to receive it, and meaner to give it. It may 
be imagined, that for Johnson's ferocity, as it has been 
called, there was some foundation in his finances ; and, 
as his Dictionary was brought to a conclusion, that 
money was now to flow in upon hiui. The reverse Mas 
the case. For his subsistence, during the progress of 
the work, he had recei\ ed at different times the amount 
of his contract ; and when his receipts were produced to 
him at a tavern dinner, given by the booksellers, it ap- 
peared, that he had been paid a hundred pounds and up- 
Avards more than his due. The author of a book, called 
J.exifihancs^* written by a Mr. Campbell, a Scotchman, 
and purser of a man of war, endeavoured to blast 
his laurels, but in vain. The world applauded, and 
Jolmson never replied. "Abuse,"- he said, "is often 
of service ; there is nothing so dangerous to an author 
as silence ; his name, like a sliuttlecock, must be beat 
backward and forward, or it falls to the ground." Lexi- 
phanes professed to be an imitation of the pleasant man- 
ner of Lucian ; but humour was not the talent of the wri- 
ter of Lexiphanes. As Dryden says, "He had too 
much horse pluy in his raillery.'* 

It was in the summer 1754, that the present writer 
became acquainted with Dr. Johnson. The cause of his 
first visit is related by Mrs. Piozzi nearly in the following 
manner. " Mr. Murphy being engaged in a periodical 
paper, the Gray's Inn Journal, was at a friend's house in 

* This work was not published ujatil the year 1767, ^hen Dr 
Johnsoa's Dictionary was fully established in reputation. C- 



GENIUS OF DR. JOHNSON. 55 

ihe country, and, not being disposed to lose pleasure for 
business, wished to content his bookseller by some un- 
studied essay. He therefore took up a French Journal 
Literaire, and translating something he liked, sent it 
away to town. Time, however, discovered that he trans- 
lated from the French a Rambler, which had been taken 
(rom the English without acknowledgment. Upon this 
discovery Mr. Murphy thought it right to make his ex- 
cuses to Dr. Johnson. He went next day, and found him 
covered with soot, like a chimney sweeper, in a little 
room, as if he had been ucting Lungs in the Alchemist, 
'uaking ether. This being told by I\Ir. Murphy in com- 
pany, come, come, said Dr. Johnson, the story is black 
enough ; but it was a happy day that brought you first to 
my house." After this first visit, the author of this nar- 
rative by degrees grew intimate with Dr. Johnson. The 
iirst striking sentence, that he heard from him, was in 
a few d^ys after the publication of Lord Bolingbroke's 
iX)sthumous works. Mr. Garrick asked him, "If he 
}iad seen them?" "Yes, I have seen them." "What do 
you think of them? " " Think of them!" He made a long 
pause, and then replied ; " Think of them ! A scoundrel 
and a coward ! A scoundrel, who spent his life in charging 
a gim against Christianity ; and a coward, who was afraid 
of hearing the report of his own gun ; but left half a 
crown to a hungry Scotchman to draw the trigger after 
his death." His mind, at this time, strained and overla- 
boured by constant exertion, called for an interval of 
repose and indolence. But indolence was the time 
of danger ; it was then that his spirits, not employed 
abroad, turned ^vith inward hostility against himself 



56 AN ESSAY ON THE LIFE AND 

His reflections on his own life and conduct were always^ 
severe ; and, wishing to be immaculate, he destroyed his 
own peace by unnecessary scruples. He tells us, that 
when he surveyed his past life, he discovered nothing 
but a barren waste of time, with some disorders of body, 
and disturbances of mind, very near to madness. His 
life, he says, from his earliest years, was wasted in a 
morning bed ; and his reigning sin was a general slug- 
gishness, to which he was always inclined, and in part of 
his life, almost compelled, by morbid melancholy, and 
weariness of mind. This was his constitutional malady, 
derived, perhaps, from his father, who was, at times, 
overcast with a gloom that bordered on insanity. When 
to this it is added, that Johnson, about the age of twen- 
ty, drew up a description of his infirmities, for Dr. 
Swinfen, at that time an eminent physician in Stafford- 
sliire ; and received an answer to his letter, importing, 
that the symptoms indicated a future privation of reason ; 
who can wonder that he was troubled with melancholy 
and dejection of spirit ? An apprehension of the worst 
calamity that can befal human nature hung over him all 
the rest of his life, like the sword of the tyrant suspended 
over his guest. In his sixtieth year he had a mind to write 
the history of his melancholy ; but he desisted, not know- 
ing whether it would not too much disturb him. In a 
Latin poem, however, to which he has prefixed, as a 
title, iNnei 2Eatton, he has left a picture of himself, 
drawn with as much truth, and as firm a hand, as can be 
seen in the portraits of Hogarth or Sir Joshua Reynolds. 
The learned reader will find the original poem in thi? 



GENIUS OF DR. JOHNSON. 5 7 

volume, and it is hoped, that a translation, or rather imi- 
tation, of so curious a piece will not be improper in this 
place. 

KNOW YOURSELF. 

VFTER REVISING AND ENLARGING THE ENGLISH LEXI- 
CON, OR DICTIONARY. 

■\Vhen Scaliger, vhole years of labour past. 
Beheld his Lexicon complete at last, 
And weary of his task, with wond'ring eyes. 
Saw from Avords pil'd on words a fabric rise. 
He cars'd the industry, inertly strong^, 
In creeping toil that could persist so long. 
And if, enraged he cried, Heav'n meant to shed 
Its keenest vengeance on the guilty head. 
The drudgery of words the damn'd would know, 
Doom'd to write Lexicons in endless wo.* 

Yes, you had cause, great Genius to repent ; 
" You lost good days, that might be better spent ;" 
You well might grudge the hours of ling'ringpain. 
And view your learned labours with disdain. 
To you were given the large expanded mind. 
The flame of genius, and the taste refin'd. 
'Twas yours on eagle wings aloft to soar. 
And amidst rolling worlds the Great P'irst Cause explore i 
To fix the eras of recorded time. 
And live in ev'ry age and ev'ry clime ; 
Record the chiefs, who propt their country^s cause ; 
Who founded empires, and established laws ; 
To learn whate'er the Sage with virtue fraught, 
Whate'er the Muse of moral wisdom taught. 
These were your quarry ; these to you were known.. 
And the world's ample volume was your own. 

^ See Scaliger's Epigram on this subject, coimauQicated m idi»ut doubt by Dr. 
Johnson, G«nt. Mag. 1748. p. s. 



58 AN ESSAY ON THE LIFE A^D 

Yet warn'dby me, ye pigmy -wits, bewai'e. 
Nor with immortal Scaliger compare. 
For me, though his example strike my view. 
Oh ! not for me his footsteps to pursue. 
Whether first Nature, unpropitious, cold. 
This clay compounded in a ruder mould ; 
Or the sloV current, loit'ringat my heart, 
No gleam of wit or fancy can impart ; 
Whate'er the cause, from me no numbers flowi 
No visions warm me, and no raptures glow. 
A mind like Scaliger's, superior still. 
No grief could conquer, no misfortune chill. 
Though for the maze of words his native skies 
He seem'd to quit, 'twas but again to rise ; 
To mount once more to the bright source of day. 
And view the wondsers of the etherial way. 
The love of fame his gen'rous bosom fir'd ; 
Each science hail'd him, and each Muse inspir 'd. 
For him the sons of learning trimm'd the bays. 
And nations grew harmonious in his praise. 

My task performed, and all my labours o'er. 
For me what lot has fortune now in store ? 
The listless will succeeds, that worst disease. 
The rack of indolence, the sluggish ease. 
Care grows on care, and o'er my aching brain 
Black melancholy pours her morbid train. 
No kind relief, no lenitive at hand, 
I seek at midnight clubs, the social band ; 
But midnight clubs, where wit with noise conspires, 
Where Comus revels, and where wine inspires^ 
3)clight no more ; I seek my lonely bed, 
And call on sleep to sooth my languid head • 
But sleep from these sad lips flies far away ; 
I mourn all night, and dread the coming day. 
Exhausted, tir'd, I throw my eyes around. 
To fiad some vacant spot on classic ground * 



GENIUS OF Dii. JOHNSON. 59 

Aud soon, Tain hope ! I form a grand design ; 
Languor succeeds, and all my pow'rs decline. 
If science open not her richest vein, 
"Without materials all our toil is vain. 
A form to rugged stone w hen Phidias gives, 
Beneath his touch a new creation lives. 
Remove his marble, and his genius dies ; 
With nature then no breathing statue vies. 

"Whate'er I plan, I feel my pow'rs confin'd 
By fortune's frown and penury of mind. 
I boast no knowledge glean'd with toil and strife, 
That bright reward of a well acted life. 
I view myself, while reason's feeble light 
Shoots a pale glimmer through the gloom of night, 
"While passions, error, phantoms of the brain. 
And vain opinions, fill the dark domain ; 
A dreary void, where fears with grief combin'd 
Waste all within, and desolate tlie mind. 

What then remains ? Must I in slow decline 
To mute inglorious ease old age resign ? 
Or, bold ambition kindling in my breast. 
Attempt some arduous task ? Or, were it beat 
Brooding o'er Lexicons to pass the day, 
And in that labour drudge my life away ? 

Such is the picture for which Dr. Johnson sat to him- 
self. He gives the prominent features of his character ; 
his lassitude, his morbid melancholy, his love of fame, 
his dejection, his tavern parties, and his wandering rev- 
eries, Vacua mala somma mentis^ about which so much 
has been written ; all are painted in miniature, but in 
vivid colours, by his own hand. His idea of writing 
more dictionaries was not merely said in verse. Mr. 
Hamilton, who was at that time an emment printer, and 
well acquainted witli Dr. Johnson, remembers that he 



60 AN ESSAY ON THE LIFE AND 

engaged in a Commercial Dictionaiy, and, as appears by 
the receipts in his possession, was paid his price for sev- 
eral sheets ; but he soon relinquished the undertaking. 
It is probable, that he found himself not sufficiently versed 
in that branch of knowledge. 

He was again reduced to the expedient of short com- 
positions for the supply of the day. The vvriter of this 
narrative has now before him a letter in Dr. Johnson's 
hand writing, which shews the distress and melancholy 
situation of the man, who had written the Rambler, and 
finished the great work of his Dictionary. The letter is 
directed to Mr. Richardson, the author of Clarissa, and is 
as follows ; 

« Sir, 

*'I am obliged to entreat your assistance. I am now 
under an arrest for five pounds eighteen shillings. Mr. 
Strahan, from whom I shoiild have received the necessary 
help in this case, is not at home ; and I am afraid of not 
finding Mr. Millar. If you will be so good as to send mc 
this sum I will very gratefully repay you, and add it to all 
former obligations. I am, sir, 

" Your most obedient, 

" and most humble servant, 

" Samuel Johnson." 
" Gough Square, 16 March." 

In the margin of this letter there is a memorandum in 
these words ; " March 16, 1756, sent six guineas. 
Witness Wm. Richardson." For the honour of an ad- 
mired writer it is to be regretted, that we do not find a 



UEMUS OF DR. JOHNSON, 6i 

.aore liberal entry. To his friend in distress he sent 
-eight shillings iiiore than was wanted. Had an incident 
of this kind occurred in one of his Romancesj Richard- 
son would have known how to grace his hero ; but in fic- 
titious scenes generosity costs the writer nothing^ 

About this time Johnson contributed several papers to 
a periodical Miscellany, called the Visitor, from mo- 
tives which are highly honourable to him, a compassion- 
ate regard for the late Mr. Christopher Smart. The 
Criticism on Pope's Epitaphs appeared in that work. In 
a short time after, he became a rc viewer in the Literary 
Magazine, under the auspices of the late Mr. New.bery, 
a man of a projecting head, good taste, and great industry. 
This employment engrossed but little of Johnson's time. 
He resigned himself to indolence, took no exercise, rose 
about two, and then received the visits of his friends. 
Authors, long since forgotten, waited upon him as their 
oracle, and he gave res|X)nses in the chair of criticism. 
He listened to the complaints, the schemes, and the 
hopes and fears, of a crowd of inferior writers, " who,'* 
he said, in the words of Roger Ascham, " lived, m€?z 
knew not ho-u^ and died obscure-^ nie?i marked not iv/ienj* 
Pie believed, that he could give a better history of Grub 
Street than any man living. His house was filled with a 
succession of visitors till four or five in the evening. Dur- 
ing the whole time he presided at tea table. Tea was 
his favourite beverage ; and, when the late Jonas Han- 
way pronounced his anathema against the use of tea, 
Johnson rose in defence of his habitual practice, declarinjj 
himself " in that article a hardened sinner, who had for 

VOL. I. 6 



6- AN EbbAV ON riir. LIFE AND 

years diluted his meals ^Yith the infusion of that iasciluit- 
ing plant ; ^vhose tea kettle had no time to cool ; who 
%vith tea solaced the midnight hour, and with tea wel- 
comed the moiTiing.'* 

Thc^proposal for a new edition of Shakspeare, which 
had formerly miscarried, was resumed in the year 175 6. 
The booksellers readily agreed to his terms ; and sub- 
scription tickets were issued out. For undertaking this 
work, money, he confessed, was the inciting motive. 
His friends exerted themselves to promote his- interest ; 
And, in the mean time, he engaged in a new periodical 
production called The Idler. The first number ap- 
peared on Saturday, April 15, 1758 ; and the last, April 
ri, 1760. The profits of this v/ork, and the subscriptions 
for the new edition of Shakspeare, were the means by 
which he supported himself for four or Tive years. In 
1759 was published Rasselas, Prince of Abyssinia. His 
translation of Lobo's \^oyage to Abyssinia seems to have 
pointed out that country for the scene of action ; and 
Rassila C/irhtos, the general of Sultan Segued, mentioned 
in that work, most probably suggested the name of the 
prince. The author wanted to set out on a journey to 
Lichfield, in order to pay the last ofiices of filial piety t© 
his mother, who, at the age of ninety, Avas then near her 
dissolution ; but money ^^'as necessary. jMr. Johnson, a 
bookseller, who has long since left ofFbushiess, gave one 
hundred pounds for the copy. With this supply John* 
son set out for Lichfield j but did not arri\'e in time to 
close the eyes of a parent whom he loved. He attended 
the funeral, which, as appears among his memorandums, 
was on the 23d. of January, 1759. 



GENIUS OF DR. JOHNS OX. 63 

Johnson noAv found it necessary to retvcncli his ex- 
'pcnses. He gave up his house in Gough Square. Mrs. 
Williams went into lodgings. He retired to Gray's Inn, 
and soon removed to chambers in the Inner Temple 
Lancj where he lived in poverty, total idleness, and the 
pride of literature. Magni slat nomhils umbra. Air. 
Fitzherbert, the father of Lord St. Helen's, the pres- 
ent minister at Madrid, a man distinguished through life 
for his benevolence and other amiable qualities, used to 
say, that he paid a morning visit to Johnson, intending 
from his chambers to send a letter into the city ; but, to 
his great* surprise, he found an author by profession 
without pen, ink, or paper. ' The present bishop of Sal- 
isbury was also among those who endeavoured, by con- 
stant attention, to sooth the caves of a mind which he 
knew to be afflicted with gloomy apprehensions. At 
one of the parties made at his house, Boscovich, the 
Jesuit, wdio had then lately introduced the Newtonian 
philosophy at Rome, and, after publishing an elegant Latin 
poem on the subjcct,was nvade a fellow of the Royal Socie- 
ty, was one of the company inviied to meet Dr. Johnson, 
The conversational first vw-as mostly in French. Johnson, 
though thoroughly versed in that language, and a profes- 
sed admirer of Boiieau and La Bruyere, did net under- 
stand its pronunciation, nor could he speak it himself 
with propriety. For the rest of the evening the talk 
was in Latin. Boscovich had a ready current flow of 
that flimsy phraseology with which a priest may travel 
through Italy, Spain, and Germany. Johnson scorned 
■vhat he called colloquial barbarisms. It was his pride 

^ speak his best. Hp v/ent on, after a little practice. 



64 A?; ESSAY ON THE LTFE A]SD 

■^vith as much facility as if it was his natural tongue. 
One sentence this writer well rGmenibers. Observing 
^h-\t Fontinelie at first opposed the Newtonian philoso- 
phy, and embraced it afterwards, his words were ; Fori- 
Unellus, ni Jailor^ in extrema aenectutCy fiiit trcnsfuga ad 
-astra JyTcTOtonianCy. 

We have now travelled through thr.t part of Dr. John- 
son's life which was a perpetual struggle with difHculties. 
}Ialcyon days are now to open upon him. In the month, 
of May, 1762, his majesty, to reward literary mevit,signifi- 
e.d his pleasure to graiU Johnson a pension of three hun- 
dred potinds a year. The Earl of Bute was minister. 
Lord Loughborough, who, perhaps, was originally a 
mover in the business, had authority to mention it. He 
was well acquainted with Johnson ; but, having heard 
much of his independent spirit, and of the downfal of 
Osborne the bookseller, he did not know but his be- 
ne vol ence might be rev/arded with a folio on his head. 
Kc desiied the author of these memoirs to under^ 
take tiiC task. This writer thought the opportunity of 
doing so much good the most happy incident in his 
life. He went, without delay, to the chambers in the 
Inner Temple Lane, which, in fact, were the abode 
of wretchedness. By slow and studied approaches the 
3ncssage va.s disclosed. Johnson made a long pause ; 
Ijc asked if it was seriously intended ? He fell into a 
profound meditation, and his own definition of a pen- 
sioner occurred to him. He was told, " That he, 
£,t least, did not come within the definition." He de- 
sired to meet next day apd dine at the Mitre Tavern. 
At that meeting he j^avc up all his scruples. On 



GENIUS OF DR. JOUXSON. &5 

the following day Lord Loughborougli conducted him 
to the Earl of Bute. The conversation that passed was 
in the evening related to this writer by Dr. Johnson. 
He expressed his sense of his majesty's bounty, and 
thought himself the more highly honoured, as the favour 
was not bestowed on him for having dipped his pen in 
faction. " No, sir," said Lord Bute, " it is not offered 
to you for having dipped your peu in faction, nor "with a 
design that you ever should." Sir John ILuvkins will 
have it, that after this interview, Johnson was often press- 
ed to v/^it on Lord Bute, but with a sullen spirit refus- 
ed to comply. However that be, Johnson was never 
heard to utter a disrespectful word of that nobleman. 
The writer of this essay remembers a circumstance 
which may throw some light on tliis subject. The late 
Dr. Rose, of Chiswick, whom Johnson loved and re- 
spected, contended for the preeminence of the Scotch 
writers ; and Ferguson's book on Ci\ il Society, then on 
the eve of publication, he said, would give tlie laurel to 
North Britain. " Alas ! w hat can he do upon that sub- 
ject ?" said Johnson. " Aristotle, Polybius, Grotius, 
Pufiendorf, and Biuiemaqui, have reaped in that field be- 
fore him." " He will treat it," said Dr. Rose, " in a 
new manner." " A new manner ! iiuckinger had no 
hands, and he wrote his name with his toes at Charing 
Cross, for half a crown a piece ; that was a new nianner 
of writing 1" Dr. Rose replied, " If that will not satisfy 
you, I will name a writer, whom you must allow to be 
the best in the kingdom." " Who is tru.t ?" " Thb Earl 
of Bute, wdien lie wrote an order for your pension." 
*' There, sir," said Johnson, "you have mc iiT the toil ', 
6* 



^0 AX ESSAY OX THE Li'FE AND 

to Lord Bute I must allow whatever praise you claim for 
him." Ingratitude was no part of Johnson's character. 
Being now in the possession of a regular income, 
Johnson left his chambers in the temple, and once 
more became master of a house in Johnson's Court, 
Fleet Street. Dr. Level, his friend and physician in or- 
dinary,* paid his daily visits with assiduity ; made tea all 
the morning, talked what he had to say, and did not ex- 
pect an answer. Mrs. Williams had her apartment in 
the house, and entertained her benefactor with more en- 
larged conversation. Chymistry was part of Johnson's 
amusement. For this love of experimental philosophy, 
Sir John Hawkins thinks an apology necessary. He 
tells us, with great gravity, that curiosity vras the only 
object in view ; not an intention to grow suddenly rich 
by the philosopher's stone, or the transmutation of met- 
als. To enlarge his circle, Johnson once more had re- 
course to a literary club. This was at the Turk's Head, 
in Gerard Street, Soho, on every Tuesday evening 
through tlie year. The members were, besides him- 
self, the right honourable Edmund Burke, Sir Joshua 
■Reynolds, Dr. Nugent, Dr. Goldsn:>ith, the late Mr. 
Topham Bcauclerk, Mr. Langton, Mr. Chamicr, Sir 
John Hawkins, and some others. Johnson's affection 
ioY Sir Joshua was founded on a long acquaintance, and 
i\ thorough knowledge of the virtues and amiable quali- 
ties of that excellent artist. He delighted in the conver- 
sation of Mr. Burke. He met him for the first time at 
Mr. Garrick's several years ago. On the next day be 

* 8cc Johnsoivs epitapb oa h\w, in this voUune- 



GEXIC'S OF DR. JOHNSON. 6^ 

said, '^ I suppose, IMurphy, you are proud of your coun- 
tryman. Cum talis sit utinam noster esset l" 
From that time his constant observation was, " That a 
man of sense could not meet Mr. Burke by accident, 
under a gateway to avoid a shower, without being con- 
vinced that he was the first man in England." Johnson 
felt not only kindness, but zeal and ardour for his friends. 
He did every thing in his power to advance the reputa- 
tion of Dr. Goldsmith. He loved him, though he knew 
his failings, and particularly the leaven of envy, which 
corroded the mind of that elegant writer, and made him. 
impatient, without disguise, of th.e praises bestowed on 
any person ^vhateve^. Of this infirmity, which mark- 
ed Goldsmith's character, Johns'^n gave a remarkable 
instance. It happened that he went with Sir Joshua 
Reynolds and' Goldsmith to see the Fantoccini, which 
were exhibited some years ago in or near the Huymar- 
ket. They admired the curious mechanism by which 
the puppets were m.ade to walk the stage, draw a chair 
to the table, sit down^ wiite a letter, and perform a vari- 
ety of other actions, with such dexterity, that though iia- 
ture^s journeymen made the mcn^ they imitated humcmity 
t-o the astonishment of the L^pectator. The ciUcrtainment 
being over, the three friends retired to a tavci;:. John- 
son and Sir Joshua talked with pleasure of what they 
had seen ; and, says Johnson, in a tone of admir:ition, 
" How the little fellow brandished his sponloon I" 
"' There is nothing in it," replied Goldsmith, starting up 
with impatience ; " give me a ppontoon ; I can do it i.?' 
wxll myself." 



03 AX ESSAY 0>, THE Lil E AND 

-Enjoying his amusements at his weekly club, and hap- 
py in a state of independence, Johnson gained in the year 
1765 another resource, which contributed more than any 
thing else to exempt him from the solicitudes of life. 
He was introduced to the late Mr. Thrale and his family. 
Mrs. Piozzi has related the fact, and it is therefore need- 
less to repeat it in this place. The author of this narra- 
tive looks back to the share he had in that business with 
self congratulation, since he knows the tenderness which 
from that time soothed Johnson's cares at Streatham, 
and prolonged a valuable life. The subscribers of 
Shakspeare began to despair of ever seeing the prom- 
ised edition. To acquit himself of this obligation, he 
went to work unwillingly, but proceeded with vigor. 
In the month of October, 1765, Shakspeare was publish- 
ed ; and, in a short time after, the university of Dublin 
sent over a diploma, in honourable terms, creating him a 
doctor of laws. Oxford in eight or ten years afterwards 
followed the example ; and till then Johnson never as- 
sumed the title of doctor. In 1766 his constitution 
seemed to be in a rapid decline : and that ir.orbid mel- 
ancholy, which often clouded his understanding, came 
upon him with a deeper gloom than ever. Mr. and 
Mrs. Thrale paid him a visit in this situation, and found 
him on his knees, with Dr. Delap, the rector of 1. ewes, 
in Sussex, beseeching God to continue to him the use of 
his- understanding. Mr. Thraie took him to ins house 
at Streutham ; and Johnson from that time became a 
eonsumt resident in the family. He went occasionally to 
;he club in Gerard Sti'cct j but his headquarters were 



GEMUS OF DR. JOHNSON. o9 

iixed at Streatham. An apartment was fitted up for 
him, and the library was greatly enlarged. Parties were 
constantly invited from town ; and Johnson was every 
day at an elegant table, with select and polished com- 
pany. Whatever could be devised by Mr. and Mrs. 
Thrale to promote the happiness, and establish the health 
of their guest, v/as studiously performed frcni that time 
to the end of Mr. Thrale's life. Johnson acco'.iipanied 
the family in all their summer excursions to Brighthelm- 
stone, to Wales, and to Paris. It is but justice to Mr. 
Thrale to say, that a more ingenuous frame of mind 
no man possessed. His education at Oxford gave him 
the habits of a gentleman ; his amiable temper recom- 
mended his conversation ; and the goodness of his heart 
made him a sincere friend. That he was the patron of 
Johnson is an honour to his memory. 

In petty disputes with contemporary writers, or the 
wits of the age, Johnson was seldom entangled. A sin- 
gle incident of that kind may not be unworthy of notice, 
since it happened with a man of great celebrity in his 
Ume. A number of friends dined with Garrick on a 
Christmas day. Foote was tb.en in Ireland. It was said 
at table, that the modern Aristophanes, so Foote was 
called, had been horsewhipped by a Dublin apothecary, 
for mimicking him on the stage. " I v/onder," said Gar- 
rick, " that any man should ^hew so much resentment 
to Foote ; he has a patent for such liberties ; nobody 
ever thought it ivorth Lis ivliilc to cuarrel with him in 
London." " I am glad," said Johnson, " to find that 
the man is rising in the ivorld.'' The expression was af- 
terwards . reported to Foote ; who, in return, gave outy 



ro AX ESSAY ON THE LIFE AND 

that lie would produce the Caliban of li^terature on tiie 
stage. Being informed of this design, Johnson sent 
word to Foote, " That the theatre being intended for the 
deformation of vice, he vrould step from the boxes on the 
stage, and correct him before the audience." Foote 
knew the intrepidity of his antagonist, and abandoned the 
design. No ill will ensued. Johnson used to say, 
'^ That, for broad faced mirth, Foote had not his equal." 

Dr. Johnson's fame excited the curiosity of the king. 
Ilis majesty expressed a desire to see a man of whom 
extraordinary things were said. Accordingly, the libra- 
rian at Buckingham house invited Johnson to see that 
elegant collection of books, at the same time giving a 
hint of what was intended. His majesty entered the 
room ; and, among other things, asked tiie author, " If he 
meant to give the world any more of his compositions ?'* 
Johnson answered, " That he thought he had wu'itten 
enough." " And I should think so too," replied his 
majesty, " if you had not written so well." 

Though Johnson thought he had written enough, his 
genius, even in spite of bodily sluggishness, could not 
lie still. In 1770 we find him entering the lists as apo- 
litical writer. The fiame of discord that blazed through- 
out the nation on the expulsion of Mr, \Viikes, and the 
final determination of the house of commons, that Mr. 
Luttrell was duly elected by 206 votes against 1143, 
spread a general spirit of discontent. To allay the tu- 
mult, Dr. Johnson published The False Alarm. Mrs. 
riozzi informs us, " That this pamphlet was written at 
her houi^e, between eight o'clock on Wednesday night 
and twelve on Thursday night." This celerity has apr- 



GENIUS OF DR. JOHNS 0Z>:. Tl 

pcared wonderful to many, and some have doubted the 
ti'uth. It may, however, be placed within the bounds of 
probability. Johnson has observed that there are differ- 
ent methods of composition. Virgil was used to pour 
out a great number of verses in the morning, and pass 
the day in retrenching the exuberanc&s, and correct- 
ing inaccuracies ; and it vras Pope's custom to write his 
first thoughts in his first words, and gradually to amplify, 
decorate, rectify, and refine them. Others employ at 
once mem.ory and invention, and, Vi ith little intermediate 
use of the pen, form and polish large masses by contin- 
ued meditation, and write their productions only, wlicn, 
in their opinion, they have completed them. This last 
was Johnson's method. He never took his pen in hand 
till he had well weighed his subject, and grasped in his 
mind the sentiments, the train of argument, and the ar- 
rangement of the whole. As he often thought aloud, he 
had, perhaps, talked it over to himself. This may ac- 
count for that rapidity with which, in general, he des- 
patched his sheets to the press, without* being at the 
trouble of a fair copy. Whatever may be the logic or 
eloquence of the False Alarrn^ the house of commons 
have since erased the resolution from the journals. But 
whether they have not left materials for a future contro*- 
vcrsy may be made a cjuestion. ^ 

In 1771 he published another tract, on the subject of 
Falkland Islands. The design w^as to shew the im* 
propriety of going to war w ith Spain for an island thrown 
uside from human use, stormy in winter, and barren in 
summer. For this work it is apparent that materiah 
vere furnished bv direction of the minister. 



72 AN ESSAV ON THE LIFE AND 

At the approach of the general election in 1774, he 
wrote a short discourse, called The Patriot, not with 
any visible application to Mr. Wilkes ; but to teach the 
people to reject the leaders of opposition, who called 
themselves patriots. In 1775 he undertook a pamphlet 
of more importance, namely. Taxation no Tyranny^ in 
answer to the resolutions and address of the American 
Congress. The scope of the argument was, that distant 
colonies, which had in their assemblies a legislature of 
their own, were, notvv'ithstanding, liable to be taxed in a 
British Parliament, where they had neither peers in one 
house, nor representatives in the other. He was of opin- 
ion, that this country was strong enough to enforce obe- 
dience. " When an Englishman," he says, " is told 
that the Americans shoot up like the hydra, he naturally 
considers how the hydra was destroyed." The event 
has shewn how nmch he and the minister of that day were 
mistaken. 

The Account of the Tour to the Western Islands of 
Scotland, v/hich was undertaken in the Autumn of 1773, 
in company with Mr. Boswell, was not published till 
some time in the year 1775. This book has been va- 
riously received ; by some extolled for the elegance of 
the narrative, and the depth of observation on life and 
manners ; by others, as much condemned, as a work of 
avowed hostility to the Scotch nation. The praise was, 
beyond all question, fairly deserved ; and the censure, on 
due examination, will appear hasty and ill founded. 
That Joimson entertained some prejudices against the 
Scotch, must not be dissembled. It is true, as Mr. Bos- 
vv*ell says, " that kc thought their success in Ejigland 



r.ENlUS 01'- i>R. JOKxNSO^ 

: Lceedcd ihdr firofioriioji of real merits and he covMnot but 
see in them that nationality ivhich no liberal minded Scots- 
man ivill dc7iy:' The author of these memoirs well re- 
members, that Johnson one day asked him, " Have you 
observed the diflference between your own country im- 
pudence and Scottish impudence ?'* The answer being 
in the. jiegative ; " Then I will tell you/' said John- 
son. " The impudence of an Irishman is the impu- 
dence of a fly, that buzzes about you, and you put it 
away, but it returns again, and flutters and teazes you. 
The impudence of a Scotsman is the impudence of a 
leech, that fixes and sucks your blood." Upon another 
occasion, this wTiter went with him into the shop of Da- 
vis the bookseller, in Russel Street, Covcnt Garden. 
Davis came running to him almost out of breath with 
joy ; " The Scots gentleman is come, sir ; his principal 
wish is to see you ; he is now in the back parlour.'* 
"Well, well, I'll see the gentleman," said Johnson. 
He walked towards the room. Mr. Boswell was the 
person. This writer followed ^\ith no small curiosity. 
"I find," said Mr. Boswell, "that I am come to Lon- 
don at a bad time,' when great popular prejudice has gone 
forth against us North Britons ; but when I am talking to 
you, I am talking to a large and liberal mind, and you know 
that I cannot helfi coming from Scotland," " Sir," said 
Johnson, "no more can the rest of your countrymen.*** 
He had other reasons that helped to alienate him from 
the natives of Scotland. Being a cordial well wisher to 

* Mr. Boswell's account of this introduction is very different 
from the above. Sec bis Life of Johnson, vol. i. p. 3G0, 8vo. edit. 
1804. 

VOL. I, 7 



74 AN ESSA\ ON THE LIFE AND 

the constitution in church and state, he did not think that 
Calvin and John Knox were proper founders of a nation- 
al religion. He made, however, a wide distinction be* 
tween the dissenters of Scotland and the separatists of 
England. To the former he imputed no disaffection, no 
want of loyalty. Their soldiers and their officers had 
shed their blood with zeal and courage in the ser^'.ce of 
Great Britain ; and the people, he used to say,'\vere con- 
tent with their own established modes of Avorship, with- 
out wishing, in the present age, to give any disturbance 
to the church of England. This he was at all times 
ready to admit ; and therefoi^ declared, that whenever 
he found a Scotchman to whom an Englishman was as 
a Scotchman, that Scotchman should be as an English- 
man to him. In this, surely, there was no rancour, no 
malevolence. The dissenters on this side the Tweed 
appeared to him in a different Ught. Their religion, he 
frequently said, v.'as too worldly, too political, too rest- 
less and ambitious. The doctrine of cashiering kings, 
and erecting on the ruins of the constitution a new form 
of government, which lately issued from their pulpits, he 
always thought was, under a calm disguise, the i)rinciple 
that lay lurking in their hearts. He knew that a wild 
democracy had overturned kings, lords, and commons ; 
and that a set of republican fanatics, who would not 
bow at the nam.e of Jesus, had taken possession of all 
the livings and all the parishes in the kingdom. That 
those scenes of horror might never be renewed, was the 
ardent wish of Dr. Johnson ; and though he apprehend- 
ed no danger from Scotland, it is probable that his dis- 
like of Calvinism mingled sometimes with his reflec- 



GENIUS OF DR. JOHNSON. 75 

lions on the natives of that country. The association of 
ideas could not be easily broken ; but it is well known 
that he loved and respected many gentlemen from that 
part of the island. Dr. Robertson's History of Scotland, 
and Dr. Bcattie's Essays, were subjects of his constant 
praise. INIr. Boswell, Dr. Rose of Chiswick, Andrew 
Millar, Mr. Hamilton the printer, and the late Mr. Stra- 
han, Avere among his most intimate friends. Many oth- 
ers might be added to the list. He scorned to enter 
Scotland as a spy ; though Hawkins, his biographer, and 
the professing defender of his fame, allovred himself 
leave to represent him in that ignoble character. He 
went into Scotland to survey men and manners. Anti- 
C^ quities, fossils, and minerals, were not within his prov- 
ince. He did not visit that country to settle the station of 
Roman camps, or the spot where Galgacus fought the 
last battle for public liberty. The people, their cus- 
toms, and the progress of literature, were his objects. 
The civilities which he received in the course of his 
tour have been repaid with grateful acknov.ledgment, 
and, generally, with great elegance of expression. His 
crime is, that he found the country bare of trees, and he 
has stated the fact. This, Mr. Boswell, in his tour to 
the Hebrides, has told us, w^as resented by his country- 
men with anger inilamed to rancour ; butjie admits that 
there are few trees on the east side of Scotland. Mr. 
Pennant, in his tour, says, that in some parts of the east- 
ern side of the counti'y, he saw several large plantations 
of pine planted by gentlemen near their seats ; and in 
this respect such a laudable spirit prevails, that, in anoth- 
er half centurv^ it never shall be said, *' To ajvj the nahd- 



• ^ AN ESSAY ON THE LIFE AND !^ 4 

nefis of the land are you co7ne." Johnson coukl not wait ior 
liiat half century, and therefore mentioned things as he 
found them. If in any thing he has been mibtakcn, he 
lias made a fair apology in the last paragraph of his book, 
uvo\ving with candour, " That he may have been surpris- 
ed by modes of life, and appearances of nature, that are 
familiar to men of wider survey, and more varied conver- 
sation. Novelty and ignorance must always be recipro- 
cal; and he is conscious that his thoughts on national 
manners are the thoughts of one who has seen but 
little." 

The Poems of Ossian made a part of Johnson's inqui- 
ry during his resideiice in Scotland and the Hebrides. 
On his return to England, November 1773, a storm 
seemed to be gathering over his head ; but the cloud 
never burst, and the thunder never fell. Ossian, it is 
well known, was presented to the public as a translation 
from the Eai^se ; but that this was a fraud, Johnson de- 
clared without hesitation. " The Earse^^ he says, " was 
always oral only, and never a written language. The 
Welch and the Irish were more cultivated. In Earse 
there v/as not in the world a single manuscript a hundred 
years old. Martm, who in the last century published 
an account of the Western Islands, mentions Insh^ but 
never Earse manuscripts, to be found in the islands in his" 
time. The bards could not read ; if they could, they 
might probal^ly h.ave written. }3ut the bard was a bar- 
barian among barbarians, and, knowing nothing himself, 
lived with others that knew no more. If there is a man- 
uscript from which the translation was made, in what age 
u*as it written, arid where is it ? If it was collected frorr^ 



l! 



GENIUS OF mi. JOHNSON. "^ 

rai recitation, it could only be in detached parts and 
scattered fragments ; the whole is too long to be re- 
membered. Who put it together in its present form ?" 
For these, and such like reasons, Johnson calls the whole 
an imposture. He adds, " The editor, or author, never 
could shew the original, nor can it be shewn by any other. 
To revenge reasonable incredulity, by refusing evidence, 
is a degree of insolence with which the world is not yet 
acquainted ; and stubborn audacity is the last refuge of 
guilt." This reasoning carries with it great weight. It 
roused the resentment of Mr. Macpherson. He sent a 
threatening letter to the author ; and Johnson answered 
him in the rough phrase of stem defiance. The two he- 
roes frowned at a distance, but never came to action. 

In the year 1777, the misfortunes of Dr. Dodd excited 
his compassion. He wrote a speech for that unhappy 
man, when called up to receive judgment of death; be- 
sides two petitions, one to the king, and another to the 
queen ; and a sermon to be preached by Dodd to the 
convicts in Newgate. It may appear trifling to add, that 
about the same time he wrote a prologue to the comedy 
of a Word to the Wise, written by Hugh Keliu. The 
play, some years before, had been damned by a party on 
the first night. It was revived for the benefit of the au- 
thor's widow. Mrs. Piozzi relates, that when Johnson 
was rallied for these exertions, so close to one another, 
his answer was, When they come to me '■jcith a dying 
parson^ and a dead staymaker, ivhat can a man do? 
We come now to the last of his literai'y labours. At 
the request of the booksellers he undertook the Lives 
of the Poets. The first publication was in 1779, and 
7* 



■i AN ESSAY ON THE LIFE AND 

the whole was completed m 17 81. In a memoran- 
dum of that year he says, sometime in March he finish- 
ed the Lives of the Poets, which he wrote in his usual 
way, dilatorily and hastily, umvilling to work, yet work- 
ing with Tigor and haste. In another place, he hopes 
they arc w'rittcn in such a manner as may tend to 
the promotion of piety. That the history of so many 

jien, who, in their different degrees, made themselves 
conspicuous in their time, was not v/ritten recently aftei- 
their deaths, seems to be an omission that does no hon- 
our to the Republic of Letters. Their contemporaries 
in general looked on with calm indifference, and suffer- 
ed wit arid genius to vanish out of the world in total 
bilence, unregarded, and unlamented. Was there no 
friend to pay the tribute of a tear ? No just observer of 
life, to record the virtues of the deceased ? Was even 

'ivy silent : It seemed to have been agreed, that if an 
author's works survived, the history of the man was to 
give no mou^l lesson to after ages. If tradition told us 
that Ben Jonson went to the Devil Tavern ; that 
Shakspeare stole deer, and held the stirrup at play- 
house doors ; that Dryden frequented Button's coffee- 
house ; curiosity was lulled asleep, and biography for- 
got the best part of her function, which is to insti'uct 
mankind by examples taken from the school of life. 
This task lemained for Dr. Johnson, when years had 
rolled away ; when the channels of information were, 
for the most part, choked up, and little remained be- 
sides doubtful anecdote, uncertain tradition, and vague 

report. 

" Nunc situs informis rrcmit et deserta Yetustas." 



GENIUS 01? DR. JOHNSON. T'S 

The value of bioc^raphy has been better understood m 
other ages, and m other countries. Tacitus informs us, 
that to record the lives and characters of illustrious men 
was the practice of the Roman authors, in the early pe- 
riods of the Republic. In France the example has been 
followed. Fontehelle^ d^Membert^ and Monsieur Thomas^ 
have left models in this kind of composition. They have 
embalmed the dead. But it is true, that they had incite- 
ments and advantages, even at a distant day, which could 
not, by any diligence, be obtained by Dr. Johnson. The 
wits of France had ample materials. They lived in a 
nation of critics, who had at heart the honour done to 
their country by their Poets, their Heroes, and their Phi- 
losophers. They had, besides, an Academy of Belles 
Lettres^ where genius was cultivated, refined, and en- 
couraged. They had the tracts, the essays, and disser- 
ations, which remain in the memoirs of the academy, 
and they had the speeches of the several members, deliv- 
ered at their first admission to a seat in that learned as- 
sembly. In those speeches the new academician did 
ample justice to the memory of his predecessor ; and 
though his harangue was decorated with the colours of 
eloquence, and was, for that reason, called panegyric, yet 
being pronounced before qualified judges, who knew the 
talents, the conduct, and morals of the deceased, the 
speaker could not, with propriety, wander into the re- 
gions of fiction. The truth was known, before it was 
adorned. The academy saw the marble before the artist 
polished it. But this country has had no Academy of 
Literature. The public mind, for centuries, has been 
engrossed by party and faction j bu the ?nadness of many 



80 AN F.SSAY ON THE LIFE AND 

for the gain of a few ; by civil wars, religious dissentions, 
trade and commerce, and the arts of accumulating wealth. 
Amidst such attentions, who can wonder that cold 
praise has been often the only reward of merit ? In this 
country Doctor Nathaniel Hodges, who, like the good 
bishop of Marseilles, drew purer breath amidst the con- 
tagion of the plague in London, and, during the whole 
time, continued in the city, administering medical assist- 
ance, was suffered, as Johnson used to relate with tears 
in his eyes, to die for debt in a gaol. In this country, the 
man who brought the New River to London was ruined 
by that noble project ; and in this country, Otway died 
for want on Tower Hill ; Butler, the great author of Hudi- 
bras, whose name can only die with the English language, 
was left to languish in poverty, the particulars of his life 
almost unkno^Mi, and scarce a vestige of him left except 
his immortal poem. Had there been an Academy of 
Literature, the lives, at least, of those celebrated persons 
would have been written for the benefit of posterity. 
Swift, it seems, had the idea of such an institution, and 
proposed it to Lord Oxford ; but whig and tory were 
more important objects. It is needless to dissemble, 
that Dr. Johnson, in the Life of Roscommon, talks of the 
inutility of such a project. " In this country," he says, 
'< an academy could be expected to do but little. If an 
academician's place were profitable, it would be given by 
interest ; if attendance were gratuitous, it would be 
rarely paid, and no man would endure the least disgust. 
Unanimity is impossible, and debate would separate the 
assembly.'* To this it may be sufficient to answer, that the 
royal society has not been dissolved by sullen disgust ; 



GENIUS OF DR. JOHNSON. 8'i 

and the modem academy at Somerset house has already 
performed much, and promises more. Unanimity is not 
necessary^ to such an assembly. On the contraiy, by 
difference of opinion, and collision of sentiment, the 
cause of literature would thrive and flourish. The true 
principles of criticism, the secret of fine writing, the in- 
vestigation of antiquities, and other interesting subjects, 
might occasion a clash of opinions ; but in that conten- 
tion truth would receive illustration, and the essays of 
the several members would supply the memoirs of the 
academy. " But," says Dr. Johnson, " suppose the philo- 
logical decree made and promulgated, what would be its 
authority ? In absolute government there is sometimes 
a general reverence paid to all that has the sanction of 
power, the countenance of greatness. How little this is 
the state of our country needs not to be told. The edicts 
of an English academy would probably be read by many, 
only that they may be sure to disobey them. The pres- 
ent manners of the nation would deride authority, and 
therefore nothing is left, but that every writer should 
criticise himself." This surely is not conclusive. It is 
by the standard of the best writers that every man set- 
tles for himself his plan of legitimate composition ; and 
since the authority' of superior genius is acknowledged, 
that authority, wliich the individual obtains, would not be 
lessened by an association with others of distinguished 
ability. It may, therefore, be inferred, that an Acad- 
emy of Literature would be an establishment highly use- 
ful, and an honour to literature. In such an institution 
profitable places would not be wanted. Vatis avana 
hand facile r-9^ animus ; and the minisler, who shali fine 



<i2 AN ESSAY ON TilE LIFE AND 

leisure from party and faction to carry such a scheme 
into execution, Avill, in all probability, be respected by pos^ 
terity as the Mecenas of letters. 

We now take leave of Dr. Johnson as an author. Four 
volumes of his Lives of the Poets were published in 1778, 
and the work was completed in 1 78 1 . Should biography 
fall again into disuse, there will not always be a Johnson 
to look back through a century, and give a body of criti- 
cal and moral instruction. In April 1781, he lost his 
friend Mr. Thrale. His own words, in his diary, will 
best tell that melancholy event. ^' On Wednesday the 
11th. of April, was buried my dear friend Mr. Thrale, 
who died on Wednesday the 4th. and with him were 
buried many of my hopes and pleasures. About five, I 
think, on Wednesday morning he expired. I felt al- 
most the last flutter of his pulse, and looked for the last 
time upon the face, that for fifteen years before, had 
never been turned upon me but with respect and benig- 
nity. Farewel 1 may God, that delighteth in mercy, have 
had mercy on thee ! I had constantly prayed for Iiim be- 
fore his death. The decease of him, from whose friend- 
ship I had obtained many opportunities of amusement, 
and to whom I turned my thoughts as to a refuge from 
misfortunes, has left me heavy. But my business is with 
myself.'* From the close of his last work, the malady 
that persecuted him through life came upon him with 
alarming severity, and his constitution declined apace. 
In 1782, his old friend, Levet, expired without warning, 
and without a groan. Events like these reminded John- 
son of his own mortality. He continued his visits to Mrs. 
Thrale at Streatham, to the 7th. day of October, 178?, 



GENIUS OF DR. JOHNSON. 83 

when having first composed a prayer for the happiness of 
a family with whom he had for many years enjoyed the 
pleasures and comforts of life, he removed to his own 
house in town. He says he was up early in the morn- 
ing, and read fortuitously in the gospel, wA/cA nms hisfiart- 
ing use of t/ie library. The merit of the family is man- 
ifested by the sense he had of it, and we see his heart 
overflowing -with gratitude. He leaves the place with 
regret, and ccsts a lingering look behind. 

The few remaining occurrences may be soon des- 
patched. Jn the m.onth of June, 1785, Johnson had a 
paralytic stroke, which affected his speech only. He 
wrote to Dr. Taylor of Westminster ; and to his friend 
Mr. Allen, the printer, who lived at the next door. Dr. 
Brocklesby arrived in a short time, and by his care, and 
that of Dr. Heberden, Johnson soon recovered. During 
his illness the writer of this narrative visited him, and 
found him reading Dr. Watson's Chemistry. Articulat- 
ing with difficulty, he said, '' From this book, he who 
knows nothing may learn a great deal ; and he who know^s, 
will be pleased to find his knowledge recalled to his mind 
in a manner highly pleasing." In the month of August 
lie set out for Lichfield, on a visit to Mrs. Lucy Porter, 
the daughter of his wife by her first husband ; and in his 
way back paid his respects to Dr. Adams at Oxford. 
Mrs. ^Villiams died at his house in Bolt Court, in the 
month of September, during his absence. This was an- 
other shock to a mind like his, ever agitated by the 
thoughts of futurity. The contemplation of his own ap- 
proaching end was constantly before his eyes ; and the pros- 
pect of death, he declared, was terrible. For many years, 



84 AN ESSAY ON THE LIFE AND 

when he was not disposed to enter into the conversation 
going- forward, whoever sat near his^ chair, might hear 
hira repeating, from Shakspeare, 

Ay, but to die and go we know not where ; 
To lie in cold obsti'uption and to rot ; 
This sensible warm motion to become 
A kneaded clod, and the delighted spirit 
To bathe in fiery floods 

And from Milton, 

Who would lose, 
For fear of pain, this intellectual being ? 

By the death of Mrs. Williams he was left in a 
state of destitution, with nobody but Frank, his black 
servant, to sooth his anxious moments. In November, 
1783, he was swelled from head to foot with a dropsy. 
Dr. Brocklcsby, with that benevolence with which he 
always assists his friends, paid his visits v/ith assiduity. 
The medicines prescrii;ed were so efficacious, that in a 
few days, Johnson, while he was offering up his prayers, 
was suddenly obliged to rise, and, in the course of the 
day, discharged twenty pints of water. 

Johnson, being eased of his dropsy, begriU to entertain 
hopes that the vigor of his constitution was not entirely 
broken. For the sake of conversing with his friends, he 
established a conversation club, to meet on every Wed- 
nesday evening ; and, to serve a man whom he had 
known in Mr. Thrale's household for many years, the 
place was fixed at his heuse in Essex Street, near- the 
Temple. To answer the malignant remarks of Sir John 
Hawkins on this subject, were a wretched waste of time. 






GEXIUS OF Dll. JOHNSON. 85 

Professing to be Johnson's friend, that biographer has 
raised more objections to his character, than all the ene- 
mies of that excellent man. Sir John had a root of 
bitterness that put rancours in the -vessel of his peace. 
Fielding, he says, Avas the inventor of a cant phrase, good- 
ness of heart,, nuhich mentis little more than the virtue of a 
horse or a dog. He should have known that kind -iffec- 
tions are the essence of virtue ; they are the will of God 
implanted in our nature, to aid and strengthen moral ob- 
ligation ; they incite to action ; a sense of benevolence 
is no less necessary than a sense of duty. Good affec- 
tions arc an ornament not only to an author but to his 
A^ritings. He who shews himself upon a cold scent for 
opportunities to bark and snarl throughout a volume 
of six hundred pages, may, if he will, pretend to mor- 
alize ; but Goodness of Heart, or, to use that politer 
phrase, the virtue of a horse or a dog, would redound 
more to his honour. But Sir John is no more ; our 
business is with Johnson. The members of his club 
were respectable for their rank, their talents, and their 
literature. They attended with punctuality till about 
midsummer, 1784, when, with some appearance of 
health, Johnson went into Derbyshire, and thence to 
Lichfield. While he was in that part of the world, his 
friends in town were labouring for his benefit. The air 
of a more southern climate they thought might prolong 
a valuable life. But a pension of three hundred pounds a- 
year was a slender fund for a travelling valetudinarian, 
imd it was not then known that he had saved a mod- 
crate sum of money. Mr. Bosweli and Sii* Joshua 
Reynolds undertook to solicit the patronage of the chan- 

VOL, I. 8 



36 AX ESSAY ON THE LIFE AND 

cellor. With Lord Thurlow, while he was at the bai% 
Johnson was well acquainted. He was often heard to 
fjay, " Thurlow is a man of such vigor of mind, that I 
never knew I was to meet him, but, I was going to say, 
I was afraid, but that would not be true, for I never 
was afraid of any man ; but I never knew that I w^as 
to meet Thurlow, but I knew I had something to en- 
counter." The chancellor undertook to recommend 
Johnson's case ; but without success. To protract if 
possible the days of a man, whom he respected, he 
offered to advance the sum of five hundred pounds. 
Being mformed of tliis at Lichfield, Johnson v/rote the 
following letter. 

" My Lord, 
" After a long and not inattentive observation of man- 
kind, the generosity of your lordship's offer raises in mc 
not less wonder than gratitude. Bounty, so liberally be- 
stowed, I should gladly receive if my condition made it 
necessary ; for to such a mind who would not be proud 
to own his obligations ? But it has pleased God to restore 
me to so great a measure of health, that, if I should now 
appropriate so much of a fortune destined to do good, 
I could not escape from myself the charge of advancing 
a false claim. INIy journey to the continent, though I 
once thought it necessar}^, was never much encouraged by 
my physicians ; and I was very desirous that your lord- 
ship should be told it by Sir Joshua Reynolds as -an event 
very uncertain ; for, if I grew much better, I should 
not be willing ; if much worse, I should not be able to 
migrate. Yoiu' lordship was first solicited without my 
y.nowledge ; but when I was told that you were pleased 



GENIUS OF DR. JOHNSON. 87 

to honour me with your patronage, I did not expect to 
hear of a refusal ; yet, as I have had no long time to 
brood hopes, and have not rioted in imaginary opulence, 
this cold reception has been scarce a disappointment ; 
and from yo\u* lordship's kindness I have received a ben- 
efit which only men like you are able to bestow. I shall 
now live mild carior, with a higher opinion of my own 
merit. 

" I am, my lord, 
" Your lordship's most obliged, 
" Most grateful, 

" And most humble servant. 

" Samuel Johnson.'* 
•^September, 1784." 

We have in this instance the exertion of two congeni- 
al minds ; one, with a generous impulse relieving merit 
in distress ; and the other, by gratitude and dignity of 
sentiment rising to an equal elevation. 

It seems, however, that greatness of mind is not cor- 
fmed to greatness of rank. Dr. Brocklesby was not con- 
tent to assist with his medical art ; he resolved to minister 
to his patient's mind, and Jiluck from his memory the sor- 
row Avhich the late refusal from a high quarter might 
occasion. To enable him to visit the south of France in 
pursuit of health, he offered from his own funds an an- 
nuity of one hundred pounds, payable quarterly. This 
was a s'-iVeet oblivious antidote, but it was not accepted for 
the reasons assigned to the chancellor. The proposal, 
however, will do honour to Dr. Brocklesby, as long as 
liberal sentiment shall be ranked among the social virtues. 



88 AN ESSAY ON THE LIFE AND 

In the month of October, 1784, we find Dr. Johnson 
corresponding with Mr. Nichols, the intelligent compiler 
of the Gentleman's Magazine, and, in the languor of 
sickness, still desirous to contribute all in his power to 
the advancement of science and useful knowledge. He 
says, in a letter to that gentleman, dated Lichfield, Oc- 
tober 20, that he should be glad to give so skilful a 
lover of antiquities any information. He adds, " at Ash- 
bume, wliere I had very little company, I had the luck 
to borrow Mr. Boyer's Life, a book so full of contempo- 
rary history, that a literary man must find some of his 
old fiiends. I thought that I could now and then have 
told you some hints worth your notice. We perhaps may 
talk a life over. I hope we shall be much together. 
You must now be to me what you were before, and what 
dear Mr. Allen was besides. He was taken unexpected- 
ly away, but I think he was a very good man. I have 
made very little progress in recovery. I am veiy weak, 
and very sleepless ; but I live on and hope.*' 

In that languid condition he arrived, on the 16th. of 
November, at his house in Bolt Court, there to end his 
days. He laboured with the dropsy and an asthma. He 
was attended by Dr. Heberden, Dr. Warren, Dr. Brock- 
lesby, Dr. Butter, and Mr. Cruikshank, the eminent sur- 
geon. Eternity presented to his mind an awful pros- 
pect, and, with as much virtue as perhaps evei- is the lot 
of man, he shuddered at the thought of his dissolution. 
His friends awakened the comfortable reflection of a 
well spent life ; and, as his end drew near, they had the 
satisfaction of seeing him composed, and even cheerful, 
insomuch that he was able, in the course of his restless 



GENIUS OF DR. JOHXSOX. ^i^ 

nights, to make translations of Greek epigrams from the 
Anthologia ; and to compose a Latin epitaph for his 
father, his mother, and his brother Nathaniel. He med- 
itated, at the same time, a Latin inscription to tlie mem- 
ory of Garrick ; but his vigoi' was exhausted. 

His love of literature was a passion that stuck to his 
last sand. Seven days before his death he wrote the 
following letter to his friend Mr. Nichols j 
" Sir, 
" The late learned Mr. Swinton of Oxford having one 
day remarked that one man, meaning, I suppose, no man 
but himself, could assign all the parts of the x\ncient 
Universal History to their proper authors, at the request 
of Sir Robert Chambers, or myself, gave the account 
which I now transmit to you in his own hand, being will- 
ing that of so great a v.ork the history should be known, 
and that each writer should receive his due proportion of 
praise from posterity. 

" I recommend to you to preserve this scrap of literary 
intelligence in Mr. Swinton's own hand, or to deposit it 
in the Museum,* that the veracity of this account may 
never be doubted. 

" I am. Sir, 

" Your most humble servant, 
^'Dec, 6. 1784.'* " Sam. Johnson/ 

Mr. Swinton. 
The History of the Carthaginians. 

Numidians. 

Mauritanians. 

* It is there deposited. J. ?f 
8* 



90 AN ESSAY ON THE LIFE AND 

The Histoiy of the Gaetulians. 

Garamantes. 

Melano Gsetiriians. 

Nigrit3e. 

. Cyrenaica, 

' Marmarica. 

Regio Syrtica. 

. Turks, Tartars, and Moguls. 

Indians. 

Chinese. 

— Dissertation on the peopling of 

America. 
The History of the Dissertation on the Independency of 

the Arabs. 
The Cosmogony, and a small part of the history imme-- 

diately following. By M. Sale. 
Fo the birth of Abraham. Chiefly by Mr. Shelvock. 
History of the Jews, Gauls, and Spaniards. By Mr. 

P Salmanazar. 
Xenophon's retreat. By the same. 
History of the Persians, and the Constantinopolitan em- 
pire. By Dr. Campbell. 
History of the Romans. By Mr. Bower.* 

* Before this authentic communication, Mr. Nichols had given 
ia the volume of. the Gentleman's Magazine for 1*81, p. 370-, 
the foUoA^ing account of the Universal History. The proposals 
^ere published October 6, 1729 ; and the authors of the first seven 
volumes -were. 

Vol. I. Mr. Sale, translator of the Koran 
II. George Psalmanazar° 
lU. George Psalmanazar 



/ 

GENIUS OF DR. JOHNSON, 9 \ 

On the mornini^ of Dec. 7, Dr. Johnson requested to 
see Mr. Nichols. A few clays before, he had borrowed 
some of the early volumes of the Magazine, with a pro- 
fessed intention to point out the pieces which he had 
written in that collection. The books lay on the table, 
with many leaves doubled down, and in particular those 
-which contained his share in the Parliamentary Debates. 
Such was the goodness of Johnson's heart, that he then 
declared, that " those debates were the only parts of his 
writings which gave him any compunction ; but tjiat at 
the time he wrote them he had no conception that he 
was imposing upon the world, though they were fre- 
quently written from very slender materials, and often 
from none at all, the mere coinage of his own imagina- 
tion." He added, " that he never %rote any part of his 
work with equal velocity. Three columns of the Mag- 
azine in an hour," he said, " was no uncommon effort ; 
which was faster than most persons could have transcrib- 
ed that quantity. In one day in particular, and. that not 
a very long one, he wrote twelve pages, more in quantity 
than ever he wrote at any other time, except in the Life 
of Savage, of which forty eight pages in octavo were 
the production of one long day, including a part of the 

night." 

Vol. IIT. Archibald Bower. 
Captain Shelvock. 
Dr. Campbell. 
IV. The same as Vol. HI. 
V. Mr. Bower. 
VI. Mr. Bower. 

Rev. John Swintom 
VII. Mr. Swinton. 
Mr. Bower. 



\ 

92 AN ESSAY ON THE LIFE AND 

In the course of the conversation he asked, whether 
any of the family of Faden, the printer, were living, Ber- 
ing told that the geographer near Charing Cross was 
Faden's son, he said, after a short pause, " I borrowed a 
guinea of his father near thirty years ago ; be so good 
as to take this, and pay it for me." 

Wishing to discharge every duty, and every obliga- 
tion, Johnson recollected another debt of ten pounds, 
which he had borrowed from his friend Mr. Hamilton, 
the printer, about twenty years before. He sent the 
money to Mr. Hamilton, at his house in Bedford Row,, 
with an apology for the length of time.Tiie Rev. Mr. 
Strahan was the bearer of the message, about four or 
five days before Johnson breathed his last. 

Mr. Sastres, whoi?i Dr. Johnson esteemed and men- 
tioned in his will, entered the room during his illness. 
Dr. Johnson, as soon as he saw him, stretched forth 
his hand, and, in a tone of lamentation, called out, Jam- 
M0RITURU3 ! But the love of life was still an active prin- 
ciple. Feeling himself swelled with the dropsy, he con- 
ceived that, by incisions in his legs, the water might be 
discharged. Mr. Cruikshank apprehended that a morti-. 
fication might be the consequence ; but, to appease a 
distempered fancy, he gently lanced the surface. John- 
son cried out, " Deeper, deeper ! I want length of life, 
and you are afraid of giving me pain, which I do not 
value." 

On the 8th. of December, the Rev. Mr. Strahan drew 
his will, by which, after a few legacies, the residue, 
amounting to about fifteen hundred pounds, was be- 



^1 



GENIUS OF DR. JOHNSON. 93 

queathed to Frank, the black servant, formerly consign- 
ed to the testator by his friend Dr. Bathurst. 

The history of a deathbed is painful. Mr. Strahan in- 
forms us, that the strength of religion prevailed against 
the infirmity of nature ; and his foreboding dread of the 
Divine Justice subsided into a pious trust and humble 
hope of mercy at the Throne of Grace. On Monday, 
the 13th. day of December, the last of his existence on 
this side the gravei the desire of life returned with all its 
former vehemence. He still imagined, that, by punc- 
turing his legs, relief might be obtained. At eight in 
the morning he tried the experiment, but no water fol- 
lowed. In an hour or two after, he fell into a doze, and 
about seven in the evening expired w ithout a groan. 

On the 20th. of the month his remains, with due so- 
lemnities, and a numerous attendance of his friends, 
were buried in Westminster Abbey, near the foot of 
Shakspeare's monument, and close to the grave of the 
late Mr. Garrick. The funeral service was read by his 
friend Dr. Taylor. 

A black marble over his grave has the following in- 
scription ; 

Samuel Johnson, l. l. d. 

obiit XIII die Decembris, 

Anno Domini 

MDCCLXXXIV. 

jEtatis suje lxxv. 

If we now look back, as from an eminence, to view 
the s^oiies of life, and the literary labours in which Dr. 
Johnson was engaged, we may be able to delineate the 



94 AN ESSAY ON THE LIFE AND 

features of the man, and to form an estimate of his 
genius. 

As a man, Dr. Johnson stands displayed in open day- 
light. Nothing remains undiscovered. Whatever he 
said is known ; and without allowing him the usual priv- 
ilege of hazarding sentiments, and advancing positions, 
for mere amusement, or the pleasure of discussion, criti- 
cism has endeavoured to make him answerable for what, 
perhaps, he never seriously thought. His diary, which 
has been printed, discovers still more. We have before 
us the very heart of the man, with all his inw^ard con- 
sciousness. And yet neither in the open paths of life, 
nor in his secret recesses, has any one vice been discov- 
ered. We see him reviewing every year of his life, 
and severely censuring himself, for not keeping resolu- 
tions, which m.orbid melancholy, and other bodily infir- 
mities, rendered impracticable. We see him for every 
little defect imposing on himself voluntary penance, go- 
ing through the day with only one cup of tea without 
milk, and to the last, am.idst paroxysms and remis- 
sions of illness, forming plans of study and resolutions to 
amend his life.* Many of his scruples may be called 
weaknesses ; but they are the w'ea.knesses of a good, a 
pious, and m.ost excellent man. 

His person, it is weW known, was large and unwieldy. 
His nerves wtire affected by that disorder, for which, 
at two years of age, he was presented to the royal touch. 
His head shook, and involuntary motions made it uncer- 
tain that his legs and arms would, even at a tea table, re- 
main in their proper place. A person of Lord Chester- 

■ On the subject of voluntary penance see the Rambler, No. CX. 



GENIUS OF DR. JOUXSON. ?3 

lield's delicacy might in his company be m a fever. He 
would sometimes of his o^vn accord do thmgs incon- 
sistent with the established niodes of behaviour. Sitting 
at table with the celebrated Mrs. Cholmondeley, who 
exerted herself to circulate the subscription for Shaks- 
peare, he took hold of her hand in the middle of dinner, 
and held it close to his eye, wondering at the delicacy 
and whiteness, till with a smile she asked, inil he give 
it to me again %vhcn lie has done tvith it? The exteriors 
of politeness did not belong to Johnson. Even that 
civility which proceeds, or ought to proceed, from the 
mind, was sometimes violated. His morbid melancholy 
had an effect on his temper ; his passions were ii'ritable ; 
and the pride of science, as well as of a fierce indepen- 
dent spirit, inflamed him on some occasions above all 
hounds of moderation. Though not in the shade of aca- 
demic bowers, he led a scholastic life ; and the habit of 
pronouncing decisions to his friends and visitors gave 
him a dictatorial manner, which was much enforced by 
a voice naturally loud, and often overstretched. Meta- 
physical discussion, moral theory, systems of religion, 
and anecdotes of literature, were his favourite topics. 
General histoiy had little of his regard. Biography was 
his delight. The firoficr study of mankind is man. Soon- 
er than hear of the Punic war, he would be rude to the 
person- that introduced the subject. 

Johnson was bom a logician ; one of those, to whom 
only books of logic are said to be of use. In conse- 
quence of his skill in that art, he loved argumentation. 
No man thought more profoundly, nor with such acute 
discernment. A fallacy could not stand before him ; ii 



96 AN ESSAY ON THE LIFE AND 

was sure to be refuted by strength of reasoning, and y. 
precision both in idea and expression almost unequalled: 
When he chose by apt illustration to place the argument 
of his adversary in a ludicrous light, one was almost in- 
clined to think 7'idicide the test of truth. He was sur- 
Ijrised to be told, but it is certainly true, that with great 
powers of mind, wit and humour were his shining tal- 
ents. That he often argued for the sake of a triumph 
over his adversary, cannot be dissembled. Dr. Rose, of 
Chiswick, has been heard to tell of a friend of his, who 
thanked him for introducing him to Dr. Johnson, as he 
had been convinced, in the course of a long dispute, that 
an opinion, v»^hich he had embraced as a settled truth, 
was- no better than a vulgar error. This being reported 
to Johnson, " Nay," said he, " do not let him be thank- 
ful, for he was right, and I was wrong." Like his uncle 
Andrew, in the ring at Smithiield, Johnson, in a circle 
of disputants, was determined wfzV/jer to be throtun nor 
conquered. Notwithstanding all his piety, self govern- 
ment, or the command of his passions in conversation, 
doe$ not seem to have been among his attainments. 
Whenever he thought the contention was for the su- 
periority, he has been known to break out with violence, 
and even ferocity. When the fray was over, he gen- 
erally softened into repentance, and, by' conciliating 
measures, took care that no animosity should be left 
rankling in the breast of his antagonist. Of this defect 
he seems to have been conscious. In a letter to 
Mrs. Thrale, he says, " Poor Baretti I do not quarrel 
whh him ; to neglect him a little will be sufficient. He 
means only to be frank and manly, and independent, and, 



X-ENR'S OF DR. JOHNSON. 97 

l^erhaps as you say, a little wise. To be frank, he thinks, 
is to be cynical ; and to be independent, is to be rude . 
Forgive him, dearest lady, the rather, because of his mis- 
behaviour I am afraid he learned part of me. I hope to 
set him hereafter a better example." For his own in- 
tolerant and overbearing spirit he apologized by observ- 
ing, that it had done some good ; obscenity and impiety 
were repressed in his company. 

It was late in life before he had tlie habit of mixing, 
otherwise than occasionally, with polite company. At 
Mr. Thrale's he saw a constant succession of well ac- 
complished visitors. In that society he began to wear off 
the rugged points of his own character. He saw the ad- 
vantages of mutual civility, and endeavoured to profit by 
the models before him. He aimed at what has been 
called by Swift the lesser morals^ and by CiceiX) ininores 
virtutes. His endeavour, though new and late, gave 
pleasure to all his acquaintance. Men were glad to see 
that he was willing to be communicative on ec^ual terms 
and reciprocal complaisance. The time was then ex- 
pected when he was to cease being what George Gar- 
rick, brother to the celebrated actor, called him the first 
time he heard him converse, " A tremendous Compax- 
i-ON." He certainly wished to be polite, and even thought 
himself so ; but his civility still retained something un- 
couth and harsh. His manners took a milder tone, but the 
endeavour was too palpably seen. He laboured even in tri- 
fles. He was a giant gaining ?l purchase to lift a feather. 

It is observed by the younger- Pliny, that in the con- 
fines of virtue and great qualities there are generally 
vices of an opposite nature. In Dr. Johnson not one in- 

VOL. I. 9 * 



98 AN ESSAY ON THE LIFE AND 

gredient can take the name of vice. From his attam- 
inents in Uterature grew the pride of knowledge ; and 
from his powers of .reasoning, the love of disputation and 
the vain glory, of superior vigor. His piety, in sonae 
instances, bordered on superstition. He was willing to 
believe in preternatural agency, and thought it not more 
strange that there should be evil spirits than evil men. 
Even the question about second sight held him in sus- 
pense. " Second sight," Mr. Peimant tells us, " is a 
power of seeing images impressed on the organs of 
sight by the power of fancy, or on the fancy by the disor- 
dered spirits operating on the mind. It is the faculty of 
seeing spectres or visions, which represent an event ac- 
tually passing at a distance, or likely to happen at a fu- 
ture day. In 1771) a gentleman, the last who was sup- 
posed to be^3ossessed of this faculty, had a boat at sea in 
a tempestuous night, and, being anxious for his freight, 
suddenly started up, and said his men would be drown- 
ed, for he had seen them pass before him with wet gar- 
ments and dropping locks. The event corresponded with 
his disordered fancy. And thus," continues Mr. Pen- 
nant, " a distempered imagination, clouded with anxiety, 
may make an impression on the spirits ; as persons, rest- 
less and troubled wdth indignation, see various forms and 
figures while they lie awake in bed." This is what Dr. 
Johnson was not willing to reject. He wished for some 
positive proof of communications with another world. 
His benevolence embraced the whole race of man, and 
yet was tinctured with particular prejudices. He was 
pleased with the minister in the Isle of Sky, and loved 
him so much that he began to wish him not a presbyte- 



GENIUS OF DR. JOHNSON. 99 

rian. To that body of dissenters his zeal for the estab- 
lished church made him in some degree an adversary ; 
and his attachment to a mixed and limited monarchy 
led him to declare open war against what he called a 
sullen republican. He would rather praise a man of 
Oxford than of Cambridge. He disliked a whig, and lov- 
ed a tory. These were the shades of his character, 
which it has been the business of certain party writers to 
represent in the darkest colours. 

Since virtue, or moral goodness, consists in a just con- 
formity of our actions to the relations in which we stand 
to the Supreme Being and to our fellow creatures, v.here 
shall we find a man who has been, or endeavoured to be? 
more diligent in the discharge of those essential duties ? 
His first prayer was composed in 1758 ; he continued 
those fen-ent ejaculations of piety to the end of his life. 
In his meditations we see him scrutinizing himself with 
severity, and aiming at perfection unattainable by man. 
His duty to his neighbour consisted in universal benev- 
olence, and a constant aim at the production of happiness. 
Who was more sincere and steady in his friendships ? It 
has been said that there was no real affection between 
him and Garriek. On the part of the latter, there might 
be some corrosions of jealousy. The character of Pros- 
PERo, in the Rambler, N^. 200, was, beyond all question, 
occasioned by Garrick's ostentatious display of furniture 
and Dresden china. It was surely fair to take from this 
incident a hint for a moral essay ; and, though no more 
was intended, Garriek, we are told, remembered it with 
uneasiness. He was also hurt that his Lichfield friend 
did not think so highly of hip. dramatic art as the rest 



JOd AN ESSAY OX THE LIFE AND 

of the world. The fact was, Johnson could not see the 
passions as thejr rose and chased one another in the va- 
"ied features of that expressive face ; and by his own 
manner of reciting verses, which v/as wonderfully im- 
pressive, he plainly sheMxd that he thought there was 
too much of artificial tone and measured cadence in the 
declamation of the theatre. The present writer well 
remembers being in conversation with Dr. Johnson near 
the side of the scenes during the tragedy of King Lear ; 
when Garrick came off the stage, he said, " You two 
talk so loud you destroy all my feelings." " Prithee," 
]-eplied Johnson, " do not talk of feelings, Punch has no 
feelings." This seems to have been his settled opinion ; 
admirable as Garrick's imitation of nature always was, 
Johnson thought it no better than mere mimicry. Yet 
It is certain that he esteemed and loved Garrick ; that 
he dwelt with pleasure on his praise ; and used to declare, 
that he deserved his great success, because on all appli- 
cations for charity he gave more than was asked. After 
Garrick's death he never talked of him without a tear in his 
eyes. He offered, if Mrs. Garrick would desire it of him, 
10 be the editor of his works and the historian of his life.* 
It has been mentioned, that on his deathbed he thought 
of writing a I^atin inscription to the memory of his 
friend. Numbers are still living who know these facts, 
and still remember with gratitude the friendship which 
he shewed to them with unaltered affection for a mim- 

* It is to be regretted that he was not encouraged In this under- 
taking. The assistance, however, -which he gave to Davies, in writ- 
ing the Life of CJarrick, has been acknowledged in general terms 
by that writer, and, from the evidence of stylc.j appears to liave 
bGcnvcrv con^idcnible, C 



GENIUS OF DR. JOHNSON. 10 1 

ber of years. His humanity and generosity, in proportion 
to his slender income, were unbounded. It has been truly 
said, that the lame, the blind, and the sorrowful, found his 
house a sure retreat. A strict adherance to truth he 
considered as a sacred obligation, insomuch that, in re- 
lating the most minute anecdote, he would not allow him- 
self the smallest addition to embellish his story. The 
late Mr. Tyers, who knew Dr. Johnson intimately, ob- 
served, " that he always talked as if he was talking upon 
oath." 

After a long acquaintance with this excellent man, 
and an attentive retrospect to his whole conduct, such is 
the light in \yhich he appears to the writer of this 
essay. The following lines of Horace may be deemed 
his picture in miniature. 

Iracundior est pmilo, viimis aptiis aciitis 

JWiribus horum hoyninum, ricleri possit, eo quod 

Rusticiiis tonso toga defnut, et male laxus 

hi pede calceus lueret ; at est bonus, nt meliov vir 

J\ on alius qiiisqiiain ; at tibi amiais, at ingenlum ingens. 

Incidto latet hoc stib corpore. 

" Your friend is passionate, perhaps unfit 
For the brisk putulance of modern -wit. 
His hair ill cut, his robe that awkward flows, 
Or his large shoes, to raillery expose 
The man you love ; yet is he not possess'd 
Of virtues, with which very few are blest ? 
While underneath this rude, uncouth disguise 
»\. genius of extensive knowledge lies." 

Francis's TIoR. Book i. Sat. 3. 

It remains to give a review of Johnson's works ; and 
^h.is, it is imagined, will not be unwelcome to the reader-. 
9* 



L02 AN ESSAY ON THE LIFE AND 

Like Milton and Addison, he seems to have been 
fond of his Latin poetry. Those compositions shew 
that he was an early scholar ; but his verses have not 
the graceful ease that gave so much suavity to the poems 
of Addison. The translation of the Messiah labours un- 
der two disadvantages ; it is first compared with Pope's 
inimitable performance, and afterwards with the Pollio of 
Virgil. It may appear trifling to remark, that he has 
.made the letter o, in the word Virgo^ long and short in the 
same line ; Virgo, Virgo parit. But the translation 
has great merit, and some admirable lines. In the odes 
there is a sweet flexibility, particularly, to his worthy 
friend Dr. Laurence ; on himself at the theatre, March 8, 
1771; the Ode in the Isle of Sky; and* that to Mrs. 
Thraie from the same place. 

His English poetry is such as leaves room to think, if 
he had devoted himself to the muses, that he would have 
been the rival of Pope. His first production in this kind 
was London, a poem in imitation of the third satire of 
Juvenal. The vices of the metropolis are placed in the 
room of ancient manners. The author had heated his 
mind with the ardour of Juvenal, and, having the skill to 
polish his numbers, he became a sharp accuser of the 
times. The Vanity of Human Wishes is an imita- 
tion of the tenth satire of the same author. Though it 
is translated by Dryden, Johnson's imitation approaches 
nearest to the spirit of the original. The subject is taken 
,from the Alcibiades of Plato, and has an intei mixture 
of the sentiments of Socrates concerning the object of 
prayers, offered up to the Deity. The general proposi- 
tion is, that good and evil are so little understood by 



GENIUS OF DH. JOHNSON. 105 

mankind, that their wishes when granted are always des- 
tructive. This is exemplified in a variety of instances, 
such as riches, state preferment, eloquence, military gloiy, 
long life, and the advantages of form and beauty. Juve- 
nal's conclusion is worthy of a christian poet, and such a 
pen as Johnson's. " Let us," he says, *' leave it to 
the gods to judge what is fittest for us. Man is dear- 
er to his Creator than to himself. If we must pray for 
special favour, let it be for a sound mind in a sound 
body. Let us pray for fortitude, that we may think 
the labours of Hercules and all his sufferings preferable 
to a life of luxury and the soft repose of Sardana- 
PALUS. This is a blessing within the reach of every 
man ; this we can give ourselves. It is virtue, and vir- 
tue only, that can mak« us happy." In the translation 
the zeal of the christian conspired with the warmth and 
energy of the poet ; but Juvenal is not eclipsed. For the 
various characters in the original the reader is pleased, 
in the English poem, to meet with Cardinal Wolsey, 
Buckingham stabbed by Fclton, Lord Strafford, Claren- 
don, Charles XII. of Sweden ; and for Tully and De- 
mosthenes, Lydiat, Galileo, and Archbishop Laud. It 
is owing to Johnson's delight in biography that the name 
of Lydiat is called forth from obscurity. It may, there- 
fore, not be useless to tell, that Lydiat was a learned 
divme and mathematician in the beginning of the last 
century. He attacked the doctrine of Aristotle and Scal- 
iger, and wrote a number of sermons on the hamiony of 
the Evangelists. With all his merit, he lay in the pris- 
on of Bocardo at Oxford, till Bishop Usher, Laud, and 
others, paid his debts. He petitioned Charles I, to be 



104 AN ESSAY ON THE LIFE AND 

sent to Ethiopia to procure manuscripts. Having spok- 
en in favour of monarchy and bishops, he was plundered 
by the Puritans, and twice carried away a prisoner from 
his rectory. He died very poor in 1646. 

The tragedy of Irene is founded on a passage in 
Knolles's Histoiy of the Turks ; an author highly 
commended in the Rambler, N°. i22. An incident in 
the life of Mahomet the Great, first emperor of the 
Turks, is the hinge on which the fable is made to move. 
The substance of the story is shortly tliis. *In 1453 Ma- 
homet laid siege to Constantinople, and having redviced 
the place, became enamoured of a fair Greek, whose 
name was Irene. The sultan invited her to embrace 
the law of the prophet, and to grace his throne. En- 
raged at this intended marriage, the Janizaries formed a 
conspiracy to dethrone the emperor. To avert the im- 
pending danger, Mahomet, in a full assembly of the 
grandees, " Catching with one hand," as Knolles re- 
lates it, " the fair Greek by the hair of her head, and 
drawing his falchion with the other, he, at one blow, 
struck off her head, to the great terror of them all ; and, 
having so done, said unto them, now, by this, judge 
whether your emperor is able to bridle his affections or 
not.'* The story is simple, and it remained for the au- 
thor to amplify it with proper episodes, and give it com- 
plication and variety. The catastrophe is changed, and 
horror gives place to terror and piety. But, after all, the 
fdble is cold and languid. There is not, throughout the 
piece, a single situation to excite curiosity, and raise a 
conflict of passions. The diction is nervous, rich, and 
elegant ; but splendid language, and melodious numbers. 



GENIUS OF DR. JOHNSON. i'^^ 

\fi\\ make a fine poemj not a tragedy. The sentiments 
are beautiful, always happily expressed, but seldom ap- 
propriated to the character, and generally too philosophic. 
What Johnson has said of the tragedy of Cato may be 
applied to Irene ; " It is rather a poem in dialogue 
thccn a drama ; rather a succession of just sentiments 
in elegant language, than a representation of natural 
affection. Nothing excites or assuages emotion. The 
events are expected without solicitude, and are re- 
membered without joy or sorrow. Of the agents we 
have no care ; we consider not what they are doing, nor 
what they are suffering ; we wish only to know what 
they have to say. It is unaffecting elegance, and chill 
philosophy." The following speech, in the mouth of a 
Turk, who is supposed to have heard of the British con- 
stitution, has been often selected from the numberless 
beauties with which Irene abounds ; 

" If there be any land, as fame reports, 

Where common laws restrain the prince and subject ; 

A happy land, -where circulating power 

Flows through each member of th' embodied state ; 

Sure, not unconscious of the mighty blessing, 

Her grateful sons shine bright with ev'ry virtue ; 

Untainted with the Ll'ST of Innovatio>.' ; 

Sure all unite to hold her league of rule, 

Unbroken as the sacred chain of nature, 

That links the jarring elements in peace." 

These are British sentiments. Above forty years 
ago they found an echo in the breast of applauding audi- 
ences ; and to this hour they are the voice of the peo- 
ple, in defiance of the 7netajihydcs and the nerj lights of 
certain politicians, who would gladly find their private 



i06 AN ESSAY OS THE LIFE AXD 

advantage in the disasters of their ccuntiy ; a race of 
men, quibus nulla ex honcsto sjies. 

The prologue to Irene is written with elegance, anc], 
in a peculiar strain, shews the literary pride and lofty 
spirit of the author. The epilogue, we are told in a 
late publication, was written by Sir William Young. 
This is a new discovery, but by no means probable. 
When the appendages to a dramatic performance are 
not assigned to a friend, or an unknown hand, or a person 
of fashion, they are always supposed to be written by the 
author of the play. It is to be wished, however, that the 
epilogue in question could be transferred to any other 
writer. It is the worst Jeu d* Esjirit that ever fell from 
Johnson's pen.* 

An account of the various pieces contained in this 
edition, such as miscellaneous tracts, and philological 
dissertations, would lead beyond the intended limits of 
this essay. It will suffice to say, that they are the pro- 
ductions of a man who never v/anted decorations of lan- 
guage, and always taught liis reader to think. The life 
of the late king of Prussia, as far as it extends, is a 
model of the biographical style. The Review of The 
Origin of Evil was, perhaps, written with asperity ; 
but the angry epitaph, which it provoked from Soame 
Jenyns, was an ill timed resentment, unworthy of the 
genius of that amiable author. 

* Dr. Johnson informed Mr. Boswell that this epilogue was 
•written by Sir William Young. See Boswell's Life of Johnson, 
vol. i. p. 169 — 70. 8vo. edit. 1804. The internal evidence that it 
is not Johnson's is very strong, particularly in the line, " Butho\^ 
the devil," kc C- 



GENIUS OF DR. JOHNSON. 107 

The Rambler may be considered as Johnson's great 
work. It was the basis of that high reputation which 
went on increasing to the end of his days. The circula- 
tion of those periodical essays was not, at first, equal to 
their merit. They had not, like the Spectators, the art 
of charming by variety ; and indeed how could it be 
expected ? The wits of queen Anne's reign sent their 
contributions to the Spectator ; and Johnson stood alone. 
A stage coach, say.^ Sir Richard Steele, must go forward 
on stated days, whether there are passengers or not. So 
it was with the Raiiibler, eveiy Tuesday and Saturday, 
tof two years. In this collection Johnson is the great 
moral teacher of his countiymen ; his essays form a body 
of ethics ; the observations on life and manners are 
acute and instructive ; and the papers professedly crit- 
ical, serve to promote the cause of literature. It must, 
however, be acknowledged, that a settled gloom hangs 
over the author's mind ; and all the ess^Avs, except eight 
or ten, coming from the same fountain head, no wonder 
that they have the raciness of the soil from which they 
sprang. Of this uniformity Johnson was sensible. He 
used to say, that if he had joined a friend or two, Avho 
would have been able to intermix papers of a sprightly 
turn, the collection would have been more miscellaneous, 
and by consequence more agreeable to the generality of 
readers. . This he used to illustrate by repeating two 
beautiful stanzas from his own ode to Cave, or SylvanuK 
Urban ; 

Non ulla Musis pagina gratior, 
Quam quae severis ludicra jungere 
Novit, fatigatamque nugis 
Utilibus recreare raentem. 



l^S AX ESSAY ON TflE LIFE AND 

Textente nymphis serta Lycoride, 
Rosce raborem sic viola adjuvat 
Immista, sic Irisi'efulget 
JEthereis variata fucis. 

It is remarkablej that the pomp of diction, which 
has been objected to Johnson, was first assumed in the 
Rambler. His Dictionary Avas going on at the Same 
time, and, in the course of that work, as he grew familiar 
with technical ahd scholastic words, he thought that the 
bulk of his readers were equally learned ; or at least 
would admire the splendour and dignity of the style. 
And yet it is well known, that he praised in Cowley the 
ease and unaffected structure of the sentences. Cowley 
may be placed at the head of those who cultivated a 
clear and natural style. Dryden, Tillotson, and Sir Wil- 
liam Temple, followed. Addison, Swift, and Pope, with 
more correctness, carried our language well nigh to per- 
fection. Of Addison, Johnson was used to say. He is the 
Rafilmel of essay writers. How he differed so widely from 
such elegant models is a problem not to be solved, unless 
it be true that he took an early tincture from the writers 
of the last century, particularly Sir Thomas Browne. 
Hence the peculiarities of his style, new combinations, 
sentences of an unusual structure, and words derived 
from the learned languages. His own account of the 
matter is, " When common words were less pleasing to 
the ear, or less distinct in their signification, I familiar- 
ized the terms of philosophy, by applying them to popu- 
lar ideas." But he forgot the observation of Dryden ; 
If too majiy foreign words are Jioiircd in ufion us^ it looks 
ds if they were designed) not to usmt the natives] but to 



1>ENIt)S OF Dll. JOHXSOX, 409 

■cibnquer them. There is, it must be admitted, a swell of 
language, often out of all proportion to the sentiment ; 
but there is, in general, a fulness of mind, and the 
thought seems to expand with the sound of the words. 
Determined to discard colloquial barbarisms and licen- 
tious idioms, he forgot the elegant sim.plicity that distiu* 
guishes the writings of Addison. He had what I.ocke 
calls a round about view of his subject ; and, though he 
never was tainted, like many modern wits, with the am- 
bition of shining in paradox, he may be fairly called an 
Original Thinker. His reading was extensive. He 
treasured in his mind whatever was worthy of notice, but 
he added to it from his own meditation. He collected, 
^yuce recondtret^ auctcujue iiromeret. Addison was not so 
profound a thinker. He was born to write, converse^ and 
Uve with ease ; and he found an early patron in Lord 
Somers. He depended, however, more upon a fine 
taste than the vigor of his mind. His Latin poetry 
shews, that he relished, with a just selection, all the re- 
fined and delicate beauties of the Roman classics ; and, 
when he cultivated his native language, no wonder that 
he formed that graceful style, which has been so justly 
iidmired ; simple, yet elegant ; adorned, yet never over- 
wrought ; rich in allusion, yet pure and perspicuous ; 
correct, without labour 4 and though sometimes deficient 
m strength, yet always musical. His essays, in general, 
are on the surface of life ; if ever original, it was in 
pieces of humour. Sir Roger de Covcrly, and the Tory 
Fox hunter, need not to be mentioned. Johnson had a fund 
of humour, but he did not know it ; nor was he willing to 
descend to the familiar idiom, and the variety of diction 

VOL. I. 10 



no AN ESSAY ON TUB LIFE AND 

which that mode of composition required. The letter, in 
the R ambler, N°. 12, from a young girl that wants a place, 
will illustrate this observation. Addison possessed an 
unclouded imagination, alive to the first objects of nature 
and of art. He reaches the sublime without any appar- 
'ent effort. When he tells us, " If we consider the fix- 
ed stars as so many oceans of flame, that are each of 
them attended with a different set of planets ; if we 
still discover new firmaments and new lights that are 
sunk further in those unfathomable depths of ether ; 
we are lost in a labyrinth of suns and worlds, and con- 
founded with the magnificence and immensity of nature ;" 
the ease, with which this passage rises to unaffected 
grandeur, is the secret charm that captivates the reader. 
Johnson is always lofty ; he seems, to use Dryden's 
phrase, to be o'erinform'd with meaning, and his words 
do not appear to himself adequate to his conception. He 
moves in state, and his periods are always harmonious. 
}Iis Oriental Tales are in the true style of eastern mag 
nificence, and yet none of them arc so mucli admired as 
the Visions of Mirza. In matters of criticism, Johnson 
is never the echo of preceding writers. He thinks and 
decides for himself. If we except the Essays on the 
Pleasures of Imagination, Addison cannot be called a 
pliilosophical critic. His moral Essays are beautiful j 
but in that province nothing can exceed the Rambler, 
though Johnson used to say, that the Essay on The bur- 
thens of mankind^ in the Spectator, N<*. 558, was the 
most exquisite he had ever read. Talking of himself, 
Johnson said, " Topham Beauclerk has wit, and every 
thing comes from him with ease ; but when I say a 



GENIUS OF DR. JOHNSON. i i I 

good thing, I seem to labour." When we compare him 
with Addison, the contrast is still stronger. Addison 
lends grace and ornament to truth ; Johnson gives it 
force and energy. Addison makes virtue amiable ; John- 
son represents it as an awful duty. Addison insinuates 
himself with an air of modesty ; Johnson commands like 
a dictator ; but a dictator in his splendid robes, not la- 
bouring at the plough. Addison is the Jupiter of Virgil, 
with placid serenity talking to Venus ; 

** Vultu, quo ccelum tempestatesque sercnat." 

Johnson is Jupiter tonans ; he. darts his lightning, 
and rolls his thunder, in the cause of virtue and piety. 
The language seems to fall short of his ideas ; he pours 
along, familiarizing the terms of philosophy, with bold 
inversions, and sonorous periods ; but we may apply to 
him what Pope has said of Homer ; " It is the senti- 
ment that swells and fills out the diction, which rises 
with it, and forms itself about it; like glass in the fur- 
nace, which grows to a greater magnitude, as the breath 
within is more powerful, and the heat more intense.*' 

It is not the design of this comparison to decide 
between these two eminent writers. In matters of 
taste every reader will choose for himself. Johnson is 
always profound, and of course gives the fatigue of think- 
ing. Addison charms while he instructs ; and writing, 
as he always does, a pure, an elegant, and idiomatic 
style, he may be pronounced the safest model lor imi- 
tation. 

The essays written by Johnson in the Adventurer may 
be called a continuation of the Rambler, The Idler, 



U2 AN ESSAY ON THE LKIE AK1> 

in order to be consistent with the assumed character, is 
written "with abated vigor, in a style of ease and unla« 
boured elegance. It is the Odyssey after the Iliad. In-- 
tense thinking would not become the Idler. The 
first number presents a well drawn portrait of an Idler, 
and from that character no deviation could be made. 
Accordingly, Johnson forgets his austere manner, and 
plays us into sense. He still continues his lectures on 
human life, but he adverts to common occurrences, and 
is often content with the topic of the day. An advertise- 
ment in the beginning of the first volume informs us, 
that twelve entire essays were a contribution from differ- 
ent hands. One of theses N". 33, is the journal of a 
senior fellow at Cambridge, but, as Johnson, being^ him- 
self an original thinker, always revolted from servile im- 
itation, he has printed the piece, with an apology, im- 
porting that the journal of a citizen in the Spectator al- 
most precluded the attempt of any subsequent writer. 
This account of the Idler may be closed, after observing, 
that the author's mother being buried on the 23d. of 
January, 1759, there is an admirable paper occasioned by 
that event, on Saturday the 27th. of the same month, N"°. 
41, The reader, if he pleases, may compare it with 
another fine paper in the Rambler, N". 54, on the con- 
\ iction that rushes on the mind at the bed of a dying 
friend. 

*' Rasselas," says Sir John Hawkins, " is a specimen 
of our language scarcely to be paralleled ; it is written 
in a style refined to a degree of iwmacidate Ji^irity^ and 
displays the whole force of turgid eloquence." One can- 
not but smile at this encomium. Hasselas is undoubtedlv 



GENIUS OF DR. JOHNSOX. HS 

both elegant and sublime. It is a view of human life, 
displayed, it must be owned, in gloomy colours. The 
author's natural melancholy, depressed, at the time, by 
the approaching dissolution of his mother, darkened the 
picture. A tale, that should keep curiosity awake by the 
artifice of unexpected incidents, was not the design of a 
mind pregnant with better things. He, who reads the 
heads of the chapters, will find, that it is not a course of 
adventures that invites him forward, but a discussion of 
interesting questions ; Reflections on Human Life ; the 
History of Imlac, the Man of Learning ; a Dissertation 
upon Poetry ; the Character of a wise and happy Man, 
who discourses with energy on the government of the 
passions, and on a sudden, when death deprives him of 
liis daughter, forgets all his maxims of wisdom and the 
eloquence that adorned them, yielding to the stroke of af- 
fliction with all the vehemence of the bitterest anguish. 
It is by pictures of life, and profound moral reflection that 
expectation is engaged and gratified throughout the 
work. The Histoiy of the Mad Astronomer, who imag- 
ines that, for five years, he possessed the regulation of 
the weather, and that the sun passed from tropic to trop- 
ic by his direction, represents in striking colours the sad 
effects of a distempered imagination. It becomes the 
more affecling when we recollect that it proceeds from 
one who lived in fear of the same dreadful visitation ; 
from one who says emphatically, " Of the uncertainties 
in our present state, the most dreadful and alarming is 
the uncertain continuance of reason." The inquiry into 
the cause of madness, and the dangerous prevalence of 
^uiagination, till, in time, some particular train of ideas 
10* 



H4 AN ESSAY ON THE LIFE AND 

fixes the attention, and the mind recurs constantly to the 
favourite conception, is carried on in a strain of acute ob- 
servation ; but it leaves us room to think that the au- 
thor was transcribing from his own apprehensions. The 
discourse on the nature of the soul gives us all that 
philosophy knows, not without a tincture of superstition. 
It is remarkable that the vanity of human pursuits was, 
about the same time, the subject that employed both 
Johnson and Voltaire ; but Candide is the work of a lively 
imagination, and Rasselas, with all its splendour of elo- 
quence, exhibits a gloomy picture. It should, however, 
be remembered, that the world has kno\vn the weeping 
as well as the laughing philosopher. 

The Dictionary does not properly fall within the prov- 
ince of this essay. The preface, however, will be found 
ui this edition. He who reads the close of it, without 
acknowledging the force of the pathetic and sublime,, 
must have more insensibility in his composition than 
visually falls to the share of a man. The work itselfi 
though in some instances abuse has been loud, and in 
others malice has endeavoured to undermine its fame, 
siill remains the Mount Atlas, of English Literature, 

Though stoi-ms and tempests thunder on its brow, 
And oceans break their billows at its feet. 
It stands unmov'd, and glories in its height. 

That Johnson was eminently qualified for the office of a 
commentator on Shakspeare, no man can doubt ; but it was 
an office which he n^ver cordially embraced. The public 
ex.pected more than he had diligence to perform ; and 
yet his edition has been the ground on which every subse^ 



GENIUS OF DR. JOHXSOX. ti: 

quent comi-oentator has chosen to build. One note for. its 
singularity, may be thought worthy of notice in this place. 
Hamlet says, For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dogy 
being a god kissing carrion. In this Warburton discov- 
ered the origin of evil. Hamlet, he says, breaks oif in 
the middle of the sentence ; but the leamed commenta- 
tor knows what he was going to say, and, being unwilling 
to keep the secret, he goes on in a train of philosophical 
reasoning that leaves the reader in astonishuient. John- 
son, with true piety, adopts the fanciful hypothesis, de- 
claring it to be a noble emendation, which almost sets 
the critic on a level with the author. The general obser- 
vations at the end of the several plays, and the preface, 
will be found in this edition. The former, with great 
elegance and precision, give a summary view of each 
drama. The preface is a tract of great erudition and 
philosophical criticism. 

Johnson's political pamphlets, whatever was his motive 
for writing them, whether gratitude for his pension-, or 
the solicitation of men in power, did not support the 
cause for which they were undertaken. They are writ- 
ten in a style truly harmonious, and with his usual digni- 
ty of language. When it is said that he advanced posi- 
tions repugnant to the common rights ofmajikind^ the vir- 
ulence of party may be suspected. It is, perhaps, true 
that in the clamour raised throughout the kingdom John- 
son over heated his mind ; but he was a friend to the 
rights of man, and he was greatly superior to the littleness 
of spirit that might incline him to advance what he did 
not think and firmly believe. In^the False Jlarm^ though 
many of the most eminent men in the kingdom concur- 



il6 ANL'SSAYON THE LIFE AND 

red in petitions to the throne, yet Johnson, having well 
surveyed the ijtiass of the people, has given, with great 
humour and no less truth, what may be called, the birth^ 
parentage,^ and education of a remonstrance. On the sub- 
ject of Falkland's Islands, the fine dissuasive from too 
hastily involving the world in the calamities of war, must 
extort applause even from the party that wished, at that 
time, for scenes of tumult and commotion. It was in the 
same pamphlet that Johnson offered battle to Junius ; 
a writer, who, by the uncommon elegance of his style, 
charmed eve 17 reader, though his object was to in- 
flame the nation in favour of a faction. Junius fought 
in the dark ; he saw his enemy and had his full blow ; 
Vr-hile he himself remained safe in obscurity. But let us 
not, said Johnson, mistake the venom of the shaft for the 
vigor of the bow. The keen invective which he pub- 
lished on that occasion, promised a paper war between 
tVi'O combatants, who knew the use of their weapons. A 
battle between them was as eagerly expected as between 
Mendoza and Big Ben. But Junius, whatever was his 
reason, never returned to the field. He laid down 
his arms, and has, ever since, remained as secret as the 
MAN IN THE MASK in Voltairc's History. 

The account of his journey to the Hebrides, or West- 
ern Isles of Scotland, is a model for such as shall here- 
after relate their travels. The author did not vigit that 
part of the world in the character of an antiquary, to 
amuse us with wonders taken from the dark and fabu- 
lous ages ; nor as a mathematician, to measure a degree, 
and settle the longitude and latitude of the several isl- 
ands. Those, who expected such information, expected 



GEMUS OF DIl. JOHNSON. 117 

what 'vvas never intended. In every -work regard the writ' 
er*s end. Johnson went to see men and manners, modes 
of life, and the progress of civilization. His remarks 
are" so artfully blended with the rapidity and elegance 
of his narrative, that the reader is inclined to wish, as 
Johnson did with regard to Gray, that to travel^ and to 
tell his travels^ had been more of his emjdoyment . 

As to Johnson's Parliamentary Debates, nothing with 
propriety can be said in this place. They are collected 
in two volumes by Mr. Stockdale, and the flow of elo- 
quence which runs through the several speeches is 
sufficiently known. 

It will not be useless to mention two more volumes^ 
which may form a proper supplement to this edition. 
They contain a set of sermons left for publication by 
John Taylor, L. L. D. The Reverend Mr. Hayes, 
who ushered these discourses into the world, has not 
given the^ as the composition of Dr. TayJor. All he 
could say for his departed friend was, that he left them 
in silence among his papers. Mr. Hayes knew theni 
to be the production of a superior mind ; and the writer 
of these memoirs owes it to the candovrr of that elegant 
scholar, that he is now warranted to give an additional 
proof of Johnson's ardour in the cause of piety, and every 
moral duty. The last discourse in the collection was 
intended to be delivered by Dr. Taylor, at the funeral of 
Johnson's wife ; but that reverend gentleman declined 
the office, because, as he told Mr. Hayes, the praise 
of the deceased Wfs too much amplified. He, who reads" 
the piece, will find it a beautiful moral lesson, written 



118 AN KSSAY ON TUH LIFE ANfi> 

with temper, and no where over charged with ambitious 
ornaments. The rest of the discourses were the fund, 
which Dr. Taylor, from time to time, carried with him 
to his pulpit. He had the largest Bull* in England, 
and some of the best sermons. 

We come now to the Lives of the Poets, a work un- 
dertaken at the age of seventy, yet the most brilliant, and 
certainly the most popular, of all oui author's writings. 
For this performance he needed little preparation. At- 
tentive always to the history of letters, and by his own 
natural bias fond of biography, he was the more w illing 
to embrace the proposition of the booksellers. He was 
versed in the whole body of English poetry, and his rules 
of criticism were settled with precision. The disserta- 
tion, in the Life of Cowley, on the metaphysical poets of 
the last century, has the attraction of novelty as well as 
sound observation. The writers who followed Dr. Donne, 
went in qu^st of something better than truth ^d nature. 
As Sancho says in Don Quixote, they wanted better 
bread than is made with wheat. They took pains to bewil- 
der themselves, and were ingenious for no other purpose 
than to err. In Johnson's review of Cowley's works, 
fulsc wit is detected in all its shapes, and the Gothic 
taste for glittering conceits, and far fetched allusions, is 
exploded, never, it is hoped, to revive again. 

An author who has published his observations on the 
Life and Writings of Dr. Johnson, speaking of the Lives 
of the Poets, says, " These compositions, abounding in 
strong and acute remark, and with mtny fine and even 

* See Johnson's T/cUcrs from Ashbourne, igi vol, xii. of t))"- 
edition. 



GirNlL'S OF DR. JOHXSOX. 119 

Sublime passages, have unquestionably great merit ; but 
if they be regarded merely as containing narrations of the 
lives, delineations of the characters, and strictures of tlie 
several authors, they are far from being always to be de- 
pended on." He adds, " The characters are sometimes 
partial, and there is sometimes too much malignity 
of misrepresentation, to which, perhaps, may be joined 
no inconsiderable portion of erroneous criticism." The 
several clauses of this censure deserve to be answered 
us fully as the limits of this essay will permit. 

In the first place, the facts are related upon the best 
intelligence, and the best vouchers that could be gleaned, 
after a great lapse of time. Probability was to be infer- 
red from such materials as could be procured, and no 
man better understood the nature of historical evidence 
than Dr. Johnson ; no man was more religiously an ob- 
server of truth. If his history is any where defective, it 
must be imputed to the want of better information, and 
the errors of uncertain tradition. 

Ad !ios vix tenuis famte prclabitur aura. 

If the Strictures on the works of the various authors 
arc not alv/ays satisfactory, and if erroneous criticism 
may sometimes be suspected, who can hope that in mat" 
ters of taste all shall agree ? The instances in which the 
public mind has differed from the positions advanced, 
by the author, are few in number. It has been said, that 
justice has not been done to Swift ; that Gay and Prior 
are undervalued ; and that Gray has been harshly treat- 
ed. This chargCj perhaps, ought not to be disputed. 
Johnson, it is well known, had conceived a prejudice 



V26 AX ESSAY ON THE LIFE AN» 

against Swift. His friends trembled for him when liC 
was writing that life, but were pleased, at last, to see it 
executed with temper and moderation. As to Prior, it 
is probable that he gave his real opinion, but an opinion 
that will not be adopted by men of lively fancy. With 
regard to Gray, when he condemns the apostrophe, m 
M^hich Father Thames is desired to tell who drives the 
hoop, or tosses the ball, and then' adds, that Father 
Thapies had no better means of knowing than himself ; 
when he compares the abrupt beginning of the first 
stanza of the bard to the ballad of Johnny Armstrong, 
" Is there ever a man in all Scotland ;" there are,, per- 
haps, few friends of Johnson, who would not wish to blol 
out both the passages. It may be questioned whether 
the remarks on Pope's Essay on Man can be received 
without great caution. It has been already mentioned, 
that Crousaz, a professor in Switzerland, eminent for 
his Treatise of Logic, started up a professed enemy to 
that poem. Johnson says, " his mind was one of those, 
in which philosophy and piety are happily united. He 
looked with distrust upon all metaphysical systems 
of theology, and was persuaded, that the positions of 
Pope were intended to draw mankind away from Rev- 
elation, and to represent the whole course of things as a 
necessary concatenation of indissoluble fatality." This 
is not the place for a controversy about the Leibnitzian 
system. Warburton, with all the powers of his large 
and comprehensive mind, publislied a Vindication of 
Pope ; and yet Johnson says, thirt " in many passages 
a religious eye may easily discover expressions not veiy 
favourable to morals, or to liberty." This sentence is 



GENIUS or DR. JOHNSON- 121 

iievercj and, perhaps, dogmatical. Crousaz wrote aii 
Examen of The Essay on Man, and afterwards a Com- 
mentary on every remarkable passage ; and though it 
now appears that Mrs. Elizabeth Cartar translated the 
foreign critic, yet it is certain that Johnson encouraged 
the work, and, perhaps, imbibed those early prejudices 
which adhered to him to the end of his life. He shud- 
dered at the idea of irreligion. Hence vre are told in the 
Life of Pope, " Never were penury of knowledge and vul° 
garity of sentiment so happily disguised : Pope, in the 
chair of wisdom, tells much that every man knows, and 
much that he did not know himself ; and gives us com- 
fort in the position, that though mmi's a fool^ yet God is 
nvise ; that human advantages are unstable ; that our 
true honour is, not to hcve a great part, but to act it 
well ; that virtue only is our own, and that happiness is 
always in our power. The reader, when he meets all 
this in its new- array, no longer knoMs the talk of his 
mother and his nurse." But may it not be said, that ev- 
ery system of ethics m.ust or ought to terminate in plain 
and general maxims for the use of life ? And, though iu 
such axioms no discovery is made, does not the beauty 
of tlie moral theory consist in the premises, and the chain 
of reasoning that leads to the conclusion ? May not truth, 
as Johnson himself says, be conveyed to the mind by a 
new train of intermediate images ? Pope's doctrine about 
the ruling passion does not seem to be refuted, though 
it is called, in harsh terms, pernicious as well as false, 
tending to establish a kind of moral predestination, or 
overruling principle, which cannot be resisted. But 
Johnson was too easily alarmed in the cause of religion. 

VOL. I. 11 



122 AN ESSAY OS THE LIFE AND 

Organized as the human race is, individuals have differ- 
ent inlets of perception, different powers of mind, and 
different sensations of pleasure and pain. 

All spread their churms, hut charm not all alike, 
On different senses different objects strike ; 
Hence different passions more or less inflame. 
As strong or weak the organs of the frame. 
And hence one master i)assion in the hreast, 
Like Aaron's serpent^ swallows up the rest. 

Brumoy says, Pascal from his infancy felt himself a ge- 
ometrician ; and Vandyke, in like manner, was a paint- 
er. Shakspeare, who of all poets had the deepest in- 
sight into human nature, w'as aware of a prevailing bias 
in the operations of every mind. By him we are told, 
" Masterless passion sways ks to the mood o^ ii^hat it 
likes or loaths,^^ 

It remains to inquire, whether in the lives before us 
the characters are partial, and too often drawn with ma- 
lignity of misrepresentation* To prove this it is alleged, 
that Johnson has misrepresented the circumstances rel- 
ative to the translation of the first Iliad, and maliciously 
ascribed that performance to Addison^ instead ofTickellj 
with too much reliance on the tcstiir^ony of Pope, taken 
from the account in the papers left by Mr. Spence. For 
a refutation of the fallacy imputed to Addison, we are 
referred to a note in the Biografihia Britamiica, written 
by the late Judge Blackstonc^ Avho, it is said, examined 
the whole matter with accuracy, and found that the first 
regular statenient of the accusation against Addisoii was 
published by Ruffhcad, in his Life of Pope, from the 
materials wliich he received from Dr. Warbuilon. But. 



GENIUS OF DR. JOHNSON. ^3j5 

with all due deference to the learned judge, whose tal- 
ents deserve all praise, this account is by no means accu^ 
rate. 

Sir Richard Steele, in a dedication of the Comedy of 
the Drummer to Mr. Congreve, gave the first insight 
into that business. He says, in a style of anger and re- 
sentment, " If that gentleman, Mr. Tickell, thinks him- 
self injured, I will allow I have wronged him upon this 
issue, that, if the reputed translator of tlic first book of 
Homer shall please to give us another book, there shall 
appear another good judge in poetry, besides Mr. Alex- 
ander Pope, who shall like it." The authority of Steele 
outweighs all opinions founded on vain conjecture, and, 
indeed, seems to be decisive, since we do not find that 
Tickell, though warmly pressed, thought proper to vin- 
dicate himself. 

But the grand proof of Johnson's malignity is the 
manner in which he has treated the character and con- 
duct of Milton. To enforce this charge has wearied 
sophistry, and exhausted the invention of a party. What 
they cannot deny, they palliate ; what they cannot prOye, 
they say is probable. But why all this rage against Dr, 
-Johnson ? Addison, before him, had said of Milton ; 

Oh ! had the poet ne'er profan'd his pen. 
To varnish o'er the guilt of faithless men ! 

And had not Johnson an equal right to avow his senti- 
ments ! Do his enemies claim a privilege to abuse what- 
ever is valuable to Englishmen, either in church or 
state ? And must the liberty of unlicensed PRiNTiNa 
be denied to the friends of the British constitution I. 



124 AN ESSAY ON THE LIFE AND 

It is unnecessary to pursue the argument through all its 
artifices, since, dismantled of ornament and seducing 
language, the plain truth may be stated in a narrow com- 
pass. Johnson knew that Milton was a republican ; he 
says, " an acrimonious and surly republican, for which 
it is not known that he gave any better reason, than that 
a popular government was the most frugal ; for, the 
trappings of a monarchy would set up an ordinary com- 
monwealth/* Johnson knew that Milton talked aloud 
"'of the danger of readmitting kingship in this na- 
tion ;" and when Milton adds, *' that a commonwealth 
was commended, or rather enjoined, by our Saviour 
himself, to all christians, not without a remarkable dis- 
allowance, and the brand of gentilism upon kingship," 
Johnson thought him no better than a wild enthusiast- 
He knew as well as Milton, " that the happiness of a na- 
tion must needs be firmest and certainest in a full and 
free council of their own electing, where no single per- 
son, but reason only, sways ;" but the example of all the 
republics, recorded in the annals of mankind, gave him 
no room to hope that reason only would be heard. He 
knew that the republican form of government, having 
little or no complication, and no consonance of parts by 
a nice mechanism forming a regular whole, was too sim- 
ple to be beautiful even in theory. In practice it, per- 
haps, never existed. In its most flourishing state, at 
\thens, Rome, and Carthage, it was a constant scene of 
tumult and commotion. From the mischiefs of a wild 
democracy, the progress has ever been to the dominion 
of an aristocracy ; and the word aristocracy fatally in-, 
dudes the boldest an^ most turbulent citizens, who rise^ 



CENIUS OF DR. JOHNSON". 123 

by their crimes, and call themselves the best Tuen in the 
state. By intrigue, by cabal, and faction, a pernicious 
oligarchy is sure to succeed, and end at last in the tyran- 
ny of a single ruler. Tacitus, the great master of polit- 
ical wisdom, saw, under the mixed authority of king, 
nobles, and people, a better form of government than 
■Milton's boasted republic; and what Tacitus admired 
In theory, but despaired of enjoying, Johnson saw estab- 
lished in this country. He knew that it had been over- 
turned by the rage of frantic men ; but he knew that, 
after the iron rod of Cromweirs usurpation, the constitu- 
tion was once more restored to its first principles. INIon- 
archy was established, and this country was regenerated. 
It was regenerated a second time at tiic revolution ; the 
rights of men were then defined, and the blessings 
f'f good order and civil libei'ty have been ever, since dif- 
fused through the whole community. 

7"he peace and happiness of society ^^ere what Dr. 
Johnson had at heart. He knew that ?JiIton called his 
defence of the regicides a defence of the people of Eng- 
land, but, however glossed and varnished, he thought it 
an apology for murder. ^ Had the men, who, under a 
show of-liberty, brought their king to the scaiTold, prov- 
ed by their subsequent conduct, that the public good 
inspired their actions, the end might have given some 
sanction to the means ; but usurpation and slavery fol- 
lowed. Milton undertook the ofiice of secretary under the 
despotic power of Cromv/ell, offering the incense of ad- 
ulation to his master, with the titles of Director of pub- 
lie Councils^ the Leader of unconquered Armies') the Father 
of his country. Milton declared, at the same time, that 
11 * 



126 AN ESSAY OX THE LIFE AND 

nothing is more pleasing to God, or more agreeable to rea- 
'son, than that the highest mind should have the sovereigji 
power. In this strain of servile flattery Miiton gives us 
the right divine of tyrants. But it seems, in the same 
piece, he exhorts Cromwell " not to desert those great 
principles of liberty which he had professed to espouse ; 
for, it would be a grievous enormity, if, after having suc- 
cessfully opposed tyranny, he should himself act the part 
of a tyrant, and betray the cause tliat he had defended."" 
This desertion of every honest principle the advocate for 
liberty lived to see. Cromwell acted the tyrant; and, 
"with vile hypocrisy, told the people, that he had consult- 
ed the Lord, and the Lord would have it so. Miiton 
took an under part in the tragedy. Did that become the 
defender of the people of England ? Brutus saw his 
country enslaved ; he struck the blow for freedom, and 
he died with honour in the cause. Had he lived to be 
a secretary under Tiberius, whiit vrould now be said of 
his memory ? 

But still, it seems, the prostitution with which Milton 
is charged, s?nce it cannot be defended, is to be retorted 
on the character of Johnson. For this purpose a book 
has been published, called Remarks on Dr. Johnsofi's 
Life of Milton ; to nvhich are added, J\Iclton*s Tractate of 
Education, and jlreopagitica. In this laboured tract we 
are told*, '• There is one performance ascribed to the pen 
of the doctor, v/hcre the prostitution is of so singular a na- 
ture, that it would be difficult to select an adequate motive 
for it out of the mountainous heap of conjectural causes of 
human passions or human caprice. It is the speech of 
tlie la^te unhappy Dr. "William Dodd, whcnhe vras about- 



GENIUS OF Dll. JOHNSON. 12? 

to hear the sentence of the law pronounced upon him, 
in consequence of an mdictment for forgery. Thf voice 
of the public has given the honour of manufacturing this 
speech to Dr. Johnson ; and the style and configuration 
of the speech itself confirm the imputation. But it is 
hardly possible to divine what could be his motive foF 
accepting the office. A man, to express the precise 
state of mind of another, about to be destined to an igno- 
minious death for a capital crime, should, one would 
imagine, have some consciousnessj that lie himself had 
incurred some guilt of the same kind." In all the 
schools of sophistry is there to be found so vile an argu- 
ment ? In the purlieus of Grub Street is there such an- 
other mouthful of dirt ? In the wliole quiver of malice 
is there so envenomed a shaft ? 

After this it is to be hoped, that a certain class of men 
will talk no more of Johnson's malignity. The last apol- 
ogy for Milton is, that he acted according to his princi- 
ples. But Johnson thought those principles detestable ; 
pernicious to the constitution in church and state, des- 
tructive of the peace of society, and hostile to the great 
fabric of civil policy, which the wisdom of ages has 
taught every Briton to revere, to love, and cherish. He 
reckoned Milton in that class of men, whom tlie Roman 
historian says, v»hen they v/ant, by a sudden convulsion, 
to overturn the government, they roar and clamour for 
liberty ; if they succeed, they destroy liberty itself. Uc 
imperiwn evertant^ Libertatem jirxferunt ; d fiei^oerte- 
rhitf libertatem ipsam aggredientur. Such ^^ ere the sen- 
timents of Dr Johnson ; and it may be asked, in the lan- 
guage of Bolingbroke, "Are these sentiments, which any 



128 AX ESSAY OX THE LIFE AXD 

man, wlio is born a Briton, in any circumstances, in any 
situat\§n, ought to be ashamed or afraid to avow t" 
Johnson* has done ample justice to Milton's poetry ; tlic 
Criticism on Paradise Lost is a sublime composition. 
Had he thought the author as good and pious a citizen 
as Dr. Watts, he would have been ready, notwithstand- 
ing his nonconformity, to do equ.il honour to the mem- 
ory of the man. 

It is now time to close this essay, ■which the authoi 
fears has been drawn too much into length. In the pro- 
gress of the work, feeble as it may be, he thought him- 
self performing the last human oflice to the memory ot 
a friend, whom he loved, esteemed, and honoured,. 

His saltctu aGCUiiuilcm tlonis, ctfuiigar inani 
]\lui>.CTC 

The author of these memoirs has been anxious to give 
the features of the man, and the true character of the au- 
thor. He has not suffered the hand of partiality to col- 
our his excellences with too much warmth ; nor has he 
endeavoured to throw his singularities too much into 
the shade. Dr. Johnson's failings may well be forgiven 
for the sake of his virtues. His defects were spots in the 
sun. His pieiy, his kind affections, and the goodness of 
liis heart, present an example worthy of imitation. His 
works still remain a monument of genius and of learning. 
Had he written nothing but what is contained in this 
edition, the (juiuuhy shews a life spent in study and medi- 
tation, if to this wc idiled the labour of his Dictionary and 
other various productions, it may be fairly allowed, as 
he used to say of himself, that he has written his share. 



^.Ir^ 



GENIUS OF DR. JOHNSON. 129 

In the volumes here presented to the public, the reader 
will find a perpetual source of pleasure and instruction. 
With due precautions authors may learn to grace their 
style with elegance, harmony, and precision ; they may 
be taught to think with vigor and perspicuity ; and, to 
crown the whole, by a diligent attention to these books, all 
may advance in virtue. 



P O E M S 



LONDON ; 

A POEM : 

f^ IMITATION OF THE 
THIRD SATIRE OF JUVENAL, 
WRITTEN IN 1738. 



Qais inepta 
Tarn patiens uvLis, tarn ferreus ut teneat se ? Ju v 



X HOUGH grief and fondness in my breast rebel, 
WJien injur'd Thales* bids the toAvn farewel, 
Vet stiil my calmer thoughts his choice commend, 
I praise the hermit, but regret the friend, 
Resolv'd at length, from vice and London far, 
Vo breathe in distant fields a- purer air, 

JUV. SAT. III. 
1 Quamvis digressii veteris contusus amici ; 
Laudo, tamen, vacuis quod sedem figere Cum is 
Destiuet, atque unum civem donare Sibylla;. 

* Sir John Hawkins says, that by Thales we are here to under- 
stand Savage. Mr. Boswell asserts that this is entirely ground- 
less, and adds, " I have been assured that Dr. Johnson said, he 
was not so much as acquainted with Savage when he wrote his 
London." This, added to the circnmstance of the dtite, for Sav- 
age did not set out for Wales till July, 1739, might be decisive, if 
VOL. I, 12 



iJ4 LO.NDUX , 

•And, fix'd on Cambria's solitary shore, 
Give to St. David one true Briton more. 

^ For who would leave, unbrib'd, Hibernia's land- 
Or change the rocks of Scotland for the Strand ? 
There none are swept by sudden fate away, 
But all, whom hunger spares, with age decay ; 
Here malice, rapine, accident, conspire, 
And now a rabble rages, now a fire ; 
Their ambush here relentless ruffians lay, 
And here the fell attorney prowls for prey ; 
Here falling houses thunder oil your head, 
And here a female atheist talks you dead. 

^ While Thales waits the Avherry that contains 
Of dissipated wealth the small remains, 

2 — Ego vel ProchytD.m prcepono Suburrce, 
"Xam quid tarn miserum, tarn solum vidimus, ut non 
Dcterius credas horrere incendia, lapsus 
Tactorum assiduos, & mille pericula sieva 
Urbis, & Augustorecitantesmense poetas ? 

3 Sed, dum tola domus rheda componitur unfi? 
Substitit ad veteres arcus. ^ 

unfortunately for Mr. Boswell he had not, a few pages after, given 
tis some highly complimentary lines which, "he was assured Avere 
written by Dr. Johnson." .^d Ricardinn Savage, in April, 1738, 
about a month before Lbhclon -vvas published. This siirely implies 
previous acquaintance with Savage, for Dr. Johnson would not 
have praised a stranger in such ter)ns, and gives a very strong 
probability to Sir John Hawkins's conjecture. That Savage did 
not set out for Wales until the following year, is a matter of little 
consequence, as the inteyiiion of such a journey would justify the 
Imes alluding to it. See Boswdi's Life of Johnson, vol. i. p. 100 
^nd p. 139. Svo. edit. 180i: 



A POEM. 136 

<c)n Thames's banks, in silent thought we stood 
Where Greenwich smiles upon the silver flood -, 
Struck with the seat that gave Eliza* birth, 
We kneel, and kiss the consecrated earth j 
In pleasing dreams the blissful age renew, 
And call Britannia's glories back to view ; 
Behold her cross triumphant on the main, 
The guard of commerce, and the dread of Spain, 
Ere masquerades debauch'd, excise oppress'd, 
Or English honour grew a standing jest. 

A transient calm the happy scenes bestow, 
And for a moment lull the sense of wo. 
At length awaking, with contemptuous frown, 
Indignant Thaler eyes the neighb'ring town. 

^ Since worth, he cries, in these degenerate day- 
Wants e'en the cheap reward of empty praise ; 
In those curs'd walls, devote to vic« and gain, 
Since unrewarded science toils in vain ; 
Since hope but sooths to double my distress, 
And every moment leaves my little less ; 
While yet my steady steps no * staff sustains, 
And life still vig'rous revels in my veins ; 

4 Hie tune Umbritius ; Quando artibus, inquit, lionestis 
Nullus ill urbe locus, nulla emolumenta laborum. 
Res hodie minor est, heri quam fuit, atque eadem eras 
Deteret exiguis aliquid ; proponimus illuc 
Ire, fatigatis ubi Dsedalus exuit alas ; 
Dum nova canities. ■ ■ 

5 et pedibus me 

Porto meis, nullo dfextram subeunte baeillo. 

* Queen Elizabeth, born at GreenM-lch. 



136 LONDOxV; 

Grant me, kind Heaven, to find some happier pluce^ 
Where honesty and sense are no disgrace ; 
Some pleasing bank where verdant osiers play,. 
Some peaceful vale with nature's paintings gay ; 
Where once the harass'd Briton found repose, 
And, safe in poverty, defy'd his foes ; 
Some secret cell, ye Pow*rs, indulgent give, 

^> Let live here, for has Jeanrd to live. 

Here let those reign, whom pensions can incite 
To vote a patriot black, a courtier white ; 
Explain their country's dear bought rights away, 
And plead for * pirates in the face of day ; 
With slavish tenets taint cur poison'd youth. 
And lend a lie the confidence of truth. 

^ Let such raise palaces, and manors buy, 
Collect a tax, or farm a lottery ; 
With warbling eunuchs fill our f silenc'd stage. 
And lull to servitude a thoughtless age. 

Heroes, proceed ! What bounds your pride shall hold 
What check restrain your thirst of power and gold ? 
Behold rebellious virtue quite o'erthrown. 
Behold our fame, our wealth, our lives, your own. 
^ To such, the plunder of a land is giv'n. 
When public crimes infiame the wrath of Heaven j 

6 Cedamus patriii ; vivant Arturius istic 

Et Catullus ; ruaoeant qui nigra in'candicia vertunt. 

7 Queis facile est sedem conducere, fliimiua, portus, 

Siccandam eluviem, portauduai ad busta cadaver. '— 

Munera nunc edunt- 

* The iuvasions of the Spaniards were defended in the Uousl 
t>f parliament. 

I The. licensing act ^vast,hen lately mad';, 



A poem; 137 

' But what, my friend, what hope remains former 

Who start at theft, and blush at perjury ? 

Who scarce forbear, though Britain's court he sing. 

To pluck a titled poet's borrowed wing ; 

A statesman's logic unconvinc'd can hear, 

And dare to slumber o'er the * Gazetteer ; 

Despise a fool in half his pension dress'd. 

And strive in vain to laugh at Clodio's jest. 

9 Others with softer smiles, and subtler art. 
Can sap the principles, or taint the heart j 
With more address a lover's note convey, 
Or bribe a virgin's innocence away. 
Well may they riscj while I, whose rustic tongue 
Ne'er knew to puzzle right, or varnish wrong, 
Spurn'd as a beggar, dreaded as a spy. 
Live unregarded, imlamented die. * 

^'^ For what but social guilt the friend endears i 
Who shares Orgilio's crimes, his fortune shares, 
ii But thou, should tempting villainy present 
All Marlb'rough hoarded, or all Villiers spent, 

8 Quid Rorase faciam ? mentiri nescio ; llbrum- 
Si malus est, nequeo laudare & poscere.— 

9 Ferre ad nuptam quce mittit adulter, 

QuK mandat norint alii ; me nemo ministro 
Fur erit, atque ideo nulli comes exeo. 

10 Quis nunc diligitur nisi conscius ? 

Carus erit Verri, qui Verrera tempore, quo vult, 
Accusare potest. 

11 Tanti tibi non sit opaci 

Oranis arena Tagi, quodque in mare volvitur aux'um, 
Hut somno careas. 

' The paper which at that tirne contained apologies for the COtSrt. 

JO * 



138 LONDON , 

Turn from the glitt'ring bribe thy scornful eyev 
Nor sell for golfl, what gold" could never buy, 
The peaceful slumber, self approvmg day, 
UnsulHed fame, and conscience ever gay. 

12 The cheated nation's happy fav'ritcs, see 1 
Mark whom the great caress, who frown on me 
LaNDON ! the needy villain's gen'ral home, 
The common sewer of Paris and of Rome ! 
With eager thirst, by folly or by fate, 
Sucks in the dregs of each corrupted state. 
Forgive my transports on a theme like this, 
'-3 1 cannot bear a French metropolis, 

1-* Illustrious Edward i from the realms of day. 
The land of heroes and of saints survey ; 
^•fer hope the British lineaments to trace, 
The rustic grandeur, or the surly grace ; 
But, lost in thoughtless ease and empty show. 
Behold the warrior dwindled to a beau ; . 
Sense, freedom, piety, retin'd away, 
Of France the mimic, and of Spain the prey. 

All that at home no more can beg or steal, 
Or like a gibbet better than a w^heel ; 
liiss'd from the stage, or hooted from the couri 
Their air, their dress, their politics, import ; 

12 Q,uje nunc divitibns gens acceptissima nostri?:, 
Et quos prjecipue faglam properabo fateri. 

13 ■ Non possum ferre, Quirites, 
GrsBcara urbem. ■ 

14 Rusticus ille tuus sumit trechedipna, Quinne, 
Et ceromatico fert nicetaria collo. 



A foe:.; 139 

15 Obsequious, artful, voluble, and gav; 

On Britain's fond credulity they prey. 

No gainful trade their industry can 'scape, 

^^ They sing, they dance, clean shoes, or cure a clup , 

All sciences a fasting Monsieur knows, 

And, bid him go to hell, to hell he goes. 

1' Ah ! what avails it, that, from slav'ry far^ 
I drew the breath of life in English air ; 
Was early taught a Briton's right to prize? 
And lisp the tale of Henry's victories ; 
If the guU'd conqueror receives the chain, 
And flattery prevails when arms are vain ? 

^^ Studious to please, and ready to submit, 
The supple Gaul was born a parasite. 
Still to his int'rest true, where'er he goes, 
Wit, brav'ry, worth, his lavish tongue bestows ; 
In ev'iy face a thousand graces shine, 
From ev'ry tongue flows harmony divine. 
^ These arts in vain our, rugged natives try, 1 

Strain out \\'ith fauit'ring- diffidence a lie, > 

And get a kick for awkward flattery. ) 

i5 Ingenium velox, audacia pei'dita, fermo 
Prom plus. 

36 Augur, schoenobates, medicus, magns ; omnia novit, 
Crseculus esuriens, in ccelum, jusseris, ibit. 

17 Usque adeo nihil est, quod nostra infantia ccelum 
ilausit Aventini ? 

18 Quid ? quod adulandi gens prudentissima, laudat 
Sermonem indocti fa'iiem detbrmisamici ? 

19 Hkc eadem licet & nobis laudare ; sedillis 
Creditur'— — 



1:^0 LONiros: i. 

Besides, -svith justice, this discerning age 
Admires their wond'rous talents for the stage ; 

20 Well may they venture on the mimic's art, 
Who play from morn to night a borrow'd part } 
Practis'd their master*s notions to embrace. 
Repeat his maxims, and reflect his face ; 
With ev'ry Avild absurdity comply, 

And view eacli object with another's eye ; 
To shake with laughter ere the jest they hear? 
To pour at will the counterfeited tear ; 
And, as their patron hints the cold or heat. 
To shake in dogdays, in December sweat. 

21 How, when competitors like these contend, 
Can surly virtue hope to fix a friend ? 

Slaves that with serious impudence beguile. 
And lie without a blush, without a smile ; 
Exalt each trifle, ev'ry vice adore. 
Your taste in snuff", your judgment in a whore i 
Can Balbo's eloquence applaud, and swear 
He gropes his breeches with a monarch's air. 

For arts like these preferr'd, admir'd, caressed. 
They first invade your table, then your breast ; 
22 Explore your secrets with insidious art. 
Watch the weak hour, and ransack all the heart ; 

20 Natio comoeda est. Rides ? majore cachiniio 
Concutitur, &c 

2^1 Non sumus ergo pai'es ; melior, qui semper et omhi 
Wocte dicque potest alienaai sumere vultum, 
A facie jactare manus ; laudare paratus. 
Si bene ructavit, si rectum minxit amicus. ■ ■ 

22 Scire voluat secreta tloinus, atque inde timeri. 



A POEM. Ul 

'. hen SQon your ill plac'd confidence repay, 
Commence your lords, and govern or betray. 

^^ By numbers here from shame or censure free. 
All crimes are safe but hated poverty. 
This, only this, the rigid law pursues, 
This, only this, provokes the snarling muse. 
The sober trader at a tatter'd cloak 
AVakes from his dream, and labom^ for a jol.e , 
With brisker air the silken courtiers gaze, 
.\nd turn the varied taunt a thousand ways. 
^ Of aM the griefs that harass the distress'd, 
Sure a most bitter is a scornful jest j 
Fate oevcr wounds more deep the gen'rous heart, 
Than when a blockhead's insult points the dart. 

25 Has Heaven reserv'd. in pity to the poor, 
Xo pathless waste, or undiscoTered shore ? 
No secret island in the boundless main ? 
No peaceful desert yet unclaim'd * by Spain ? 
Quick let us rise, the happy seats esplore. 
And bear oppression's insolence no more. 
This mournful truth is ev'ry where confess'd, 
'"^Slow rises worth, by poverty depressed : 



Materiiim pi-seLet causasq'ae jocoruia 



Omnibas hie idem ? si fc&da fcc scissa lacerna, &c . 

24 Nil habet infelix paupertJis durius in ie, 
Qaara quod ridieulos Lomines faeit. 

25 Agioine facto, 

■^•r bueraiit olim tenues migrasse Qiiirites. 

-J Haud facile emerguat, quorum vii-tulibas obstat 

* The Spaniards at this time were said to make claim to some oi 
r American proTicces. 



142 LONDON 5 

But here more slow, where all are slaves to gold, 
Where looks are merchandise and smiles are soldj 
Where, won by bribes, by flatteries implor'd, 
The groom retails the favours of his lord. 

But hark ! th' affrighted crowd's tumultuous cries 
Roll through the streets, and thunder to the skies ; 
Rais'd from some pleasing dream of wealth and pow*?^ 
Some pompous palace, or some blissful bow'r, 
Aghast you start, and scarce with aching sight 
Sustain th' approaching fire's tremendous light ; 
Swift from purgiiing horrors take your way, 
And leave your little all to flames a prey ; 
^-^ Then through the world a wretched vagrant roam, 
For where can starving merit find a home ? 
In vain your mournful narrative disclose. 
While all neglect, and most insult your woes. 
23 Should Heav'n's just bolts Orgilio's wealth confound;. 
And spread his flaming palace on the ground, 
Swift o'er the land the dismal rumour flies, 
And public mournings pacify the skies ; 
The laureat tribe in venal verse relate. 
How virtue wars with persecuting fate ; . 

Res augusta domi, sed Romis durioi' iilis 
C onatu s 



Omnia Romae 



Cum pretio. — — 

Cogimur, et cultis augare peculia servis. 

27 Ultimus autem 

iErumnte cumulus, quod nudum &c frustra rogantera 
Nemo cJbo, nemo hospitio, tectoque juvabit. 

28 Si Yrxagna Asturici cecidit domus, horrida materj 
PuUati proceres. ■*■■ ■ 



A POEM. 143 

^^ With well feign'd gratitude the pension'd band 
Kefimd the pkinder of the beggar'd land. 
See I while he builds, the gaudy vassals come, 
And crowd with sudden wealth the rising dome ; 
The price of boroughs and of souls restore ; 
And raise liis treasures higher than before ; 
Now bless'd with all the baubles of the great, 
The polish'd marble and the shining plate, 
^^ Orgilio. sees the golden pile aspire. 
And hopes from angry Heavn another fire. 

^^ Could'st thou resign the park and play content, 
For the fair banks of Severn or of Trent ; 
There might'st thou find some elegant, retreat, 
Some hireling senator's deserted seat; 
And stretch thy prospects o'er the smiling land, 
For less than rent the dungeons of the Strand ; 
There prune thy walks, support the drooping flowers.. 
Direct thy rivulets, and twine thy bowers ; 
And, while thy grounds a cheap repast afford. 
Despise the dainties of a venal lord ; 
There ev'ry bush with nature's music nngs, 
There ev'ry breeze bears health upon its wings ; 

29 .^ — Jam accurrit, qui marmora donet, 

Conferat impensas ; hicj &c. 
Hie modium argenti. 

•^^ — ^ Meliora, ac plura reponit 

Persicus orborum lautissimus.— — 

3i Si potes avelli Circensibus, optima Sorce. 
Aut Fabraterice domus, aut Fusinone paratur, 
Quanti nunc tenebfas unum condueis in annum. 
Hortulus hie— — 

Vive bideutis araans & culti villicus horti, 
TJnde epiilum possls centum dare Pythagorseis 



U4 LONDOX ; 

On all thy hours security shall smile, 
And bless thine evening walk and morning toil. 
22 Prepare for death if here at night you roam, 
And sign your will before you sup from home. 

33 Some fiery fop, with new commission vain, 
Who sleeps on brambles till he kills his man ; 
Some frolic drunkard, reeling from a feast, 
Provokes a brcil, and stabs you for a jest. 

34 Yet e'en these heroes, mischievously gay, 
Lords of the street, and terrors of the way ; 
Flush'd as they are, with folly, youth, and wine, 
Their prudent insults to the poor confine ; 
Afar they mark the flambeau's bright approach. 
And shun the shining train, and golden coach. 

3'' In vain these dangers past, your doors you closc4 
And hope the balmy blessings of i'cpose ; 
Cruel with guilt, and darifig with despair. 
The midnight murd'rer bursts the faithless bar p 
Invades the sacred hour of silent rest, , 
And leaves, unseen, a dagger in your breast. 

32 .1 ■ ■ Possis ignavus liaberi, 
Et subiti casus improvidus, ad Cffinam si 
Intestatus eas.- 

33 Ebrius, ac peUilans, qtil nullum forte cedidil, 
Dat poenas, noctera patitur lugcntis amicum 

, Peleld^.- ■ - 

34 ..I, Sed, quamvls iniprobus annis, 

Atque mcro fervens, cavet hunc, qu cm coccina \^n& 
Vitari jubet, & comitum longissinius ordo, 
Multum prselerea flammarum, atque senea lampas. 

35 Nee tamcn hoc tantum metuas ; nam qui spolict tc 
Non dcciit ; clausis Uomibus, Sec. 



A POEM 



UB 



^* Scarce can our fields, such crowds at Tyburn die, 
With hemp the gallows and the fleet supply. 
Propose your schemes, ye senatorian band, 
Whose * ways and means support the sinking land : 
Lest ropes be wanting in the tempting spring. 
To rig another convoy for the king.f 

^' A single gaol, in Alfred's golden reign, 
Could half the nation's criminals contain ; 
Fair justice, then, without constraint ador'd, 
Held high the steady scale, but sheath'd the sword ; 
No spies were paid, no special juries known ; 
Blest age ! but ah ! how different from our own 1 

38 Much could I add ; but see the boat at hand, 
The tide, retiring, calls me from the land ; 
39 Farewell ! When youth, and health, and fortune spent, 
Thou fly'st for refuge to the wilds of Kent ; 

36 Maximus in viuclis ferri modus ; ut timeas, ne 
Vomer deficiat, ne marice & sarcula desint. 

37 Felices proavorum atavos, Felicia dicas 
SeeuJa, quse quondam sub regibus atque tribunis 
Viderunt una contentara carcere Romam. 

38 His alias poterara, & i)luries subnectere causas ; 
Sed jumenta vocant.— — 

39 Ergo vale nostri memor ; & quoties te 

Roma tuo refici properantem reddet Aquino, 
Me quoque ad Elvinam Cererem, vestramque Dianam 
Convelle a Cumis ; satirarum ego, ni pudet illas, 
Adjutor gelidos veniam ealligatus in agros. 

* A cant term in the house of commons for methods of raising 
money. ^ 

t The nation was discontented at the \isits made by the king to, 
Hanover. 

VOL.1. 13 



146 LONDON ; A POEM. 

And, tir*d, like me, with follies and with crimes, 
In angry numbers warn'st succeeding times ; 
Then shall thy friend, nor thou refuse his aid. 
Still foe to vice, forsake his Cambrian shade; 
In virtue's cause once more exert his rage, 
Thy satire point, and animate thy page. 



THE 

VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES, 

IN IMITATION OF THE 
TENTH SATIRE OF JUVENAL. 



XjET * Observation, with extensive view, 
Survey mankind from China to Peru ; 
Remark each anxious toil, each eager strife, 
And watch the busy scenes of crowded life ; 
Then say how hope and fear, desire and hate, 
O'erspread with snares the clouded maze of fate. 
Where wavering man, betray*d by vent'rous pride, 
To chase the dreaiy paths without a guide. 
As treach'rous phantoms m the mist delude, 
Shuns fancied ills, or chases airy good ; 
How rarely reason guides the stubborn choice. 
Rules the bold hand, or prompts the suppliant voice 
How nations sink, by darling schemes oppress'd. 
When vengeance listens to the fool's request. 
Fate wings with ev'ry wish th' afflictive dart, 
Each gift of nature, and each grace of art ; 
With fatal heat impetuous courage glows. 
With fatal sweetness elocution flows ; 
Impeachment stops the speaker's pow'rfui breath, 
And restless fire precipitates on death. 
» Yor. 1— U. 



U8 THE VANITY OF III, MAN VvlSHE.S. 

•* But, scarce observ'd, the knowing and the bold 
Fall m the gen'ral massacre of gold ; 
Wide wasting pest ! that rages unconfin'd, 
And crowds with crimes the records of mankind j 
For gold his sword the hireling rufTian draws, 
For gold the hireling judge distorts the laws ; 
Wealth heap'd on wealth, nor truth nor safety buyS;. 
The dangers gather as the treasures rise. 

Let hist'ry tell, where rival kings command, 
.A.nd dubious title shakes the madded land, 
When statutes glean the refuse of the sword, 
How much more safe the vassal than the lord ; 
Low sculks the hind be^^ieath the rage of power. 
And leaves the wealthy traitor in the tower, 
Untouch*d his cottage, and his slumbers sound, 
Though Confiscation's vultures hover round. 

The needy traveller, serene and gay. 
Walks the wild heath, and sings his toil away. 
Does envy seize thee ? crush th*^ upbraiding joy ; 
Increase his riches, and his peace destroy ; 
Now fears in dire vicissitude invade. 
The rustling brake alarms, and quiv'ring shade ; 
Nor light nor darkness bring his pain relief. 
One shews the plunder, and one hides the thief. 

Yet t still one gen'ral cry the skies assails. 
And gain and grandeur load the tainted gales ; 
Few know the toiling statesman's fear or care, 
Th' insidious rival, and the gaping heir. 
Once I more, Democritus, arist> on earth, 
With cheerful wisdom and instructive mirlh, 

■ Yer. le— "2'^. f Ver. 23—27. ^ Ver.2l8— 55., 



THE VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES. 149 

See motley life in modern trappings dress'd, 

And feed with varied fools th' eternal jest ; 

Thou who could*st laugh where want enchairi*d caprice. 

Toil crush'd conceit, and man was of a piece ; 

Where wealth, iinlov'd, without a mourner dy'd ; 

And scarce a sycophant was fed' by pride ; 

Where ne'er was known the form of mock debate, 

Or seen a new made mayor's unwieldy state ; 

Where change of fav'rites made no change of laws, 

And senates heard before they judg'd a cause ; 

How would'st thou shake at Britain's modish tribe. 

Dart the quick taunt, and edge the piercing gibe ? 

Attentive truth and nature to descry, 

And pierce each scene with philosophic eye. 

To thee were solemn toys, or empty show, 

The robes of pleasure and the veils of wo ; 

All aid the farce, and all thy mirth maintain, 

Whose joys are causeless, or whose griefs are vain. 

Such was the scorn that fill*d the sage*s mind, 
Renev/'d at ev'ry glance on human kind ; 
How just that scorn ere yet thy voice declare, 
Search ev'ry state, and canvass ev'ry prayer. 

* Unnumber'd suppliants crowd Preferment's gate, 
Athirst for wealth, and burning to be great, 
Delusive fortune hears th' incessant call, 
They mount, they shine, evaporate, and falL 
On ev'ry stage the foes of peace attend, 
Hate dogs their flight, and insult mocks ^eir endr 

* Ver. 56—107, 
IS* 



150 THE VA:N^ITY OF HUMAN WISHES. 

Love ends with hope, the sinking statesman's door 
Pours in the moming worshipper no more ; 
For growing names the weekly scribbler lies. 
To growing wealth the dedicator flies. 
From ev'ry room descends the painted face. 
That hung the bright palladium of the place ; 
And, smok'd in kitchens, or in auctions sold, 
To better features yields the frame of gold ; 
For now no more v*e trace in ev'ry line 
Heroic worth, benevolence divine ; 
The form distorted, justifies the fall, 
A.nd detestation rids th' indignant wall. 

But will not Bruain hear the last appeal, 
Sign her foes' doom, or guard her fav'rites' zeal ? 
Through freedom's sons no more remonstrance ringH 
Degrading nobles and controling kings-; 
Our supple tribes repress their patriot throats, 
And ask no questions but the price of votes ; 
With weekly libels and septennial ale. 
Their wish is full to riot and to rail. 

In full blown dignity, see Wolsey stand, 
Law in his voice, and fortune in his hand ; 
To him the church, the realm, their pow'rs consign , 
Through him the rays of regal bounty shine, 
Tum'd by his nod the stream of honour flows, 
His smile alone security bestows ; 
Still to new heights his restless wishes towV, 
Claim leads to claim, and pow'r advances pow'r ; 
Till conquest unresisted ceas'd to please, 
And rights submitted left him none to seize. 



THE VA^^TY OF HUMAN WISHES. 15 i 

At length his sovereign frowns.. ...the train of state 

Mark the keen glance, and watch the sign to hate. 

Where'er he turns, he meets a stranger*^s eye, 

His siippliams scorn him, and his followers fly ; 

Now drops at once the pride of awful state, 

The golden canopy, the glitt'ring plate, 

The regal palace, the luxurious board, 

The liv'ried army, and the menial lord. 

With age, with cares, with maladies oppressM^ 

He seeks the refuge of monastic rest. 

Grief aids disease, remembered folly stings, 

And his last sighs reproach the faith of kings. 

Speak thou, whose thoughts at humble peace repine, 

Shall Wolsey'^s wealth, with Wolsey*s end, be thine ? 

Or liv*st thou now, with safer pride content, 

The wisest justice on the banks of Trent ? 

For, why did Wolsey, near the steeps of fate, 

On weak foundations raise th* enormous weight ? 

Why but to sink beneath misfortune's blow, 

With louder ruin to the gulfs below ? 

* What gave great Villiers to the assassin's knife. 

And fix*d disease on Harley's closing life ? 

What murder'd Wentworth, and what exil'd Hyde, 

By kings protected, and to kings ally'd ? 

What but their wish indulg'd in courts to shine, 

And poAv'r too great to keep, or to resign ? 

t When first the college rolls receive his name, 

The young enthusiast quits his ease for fame ; 

Resistless burns the fever of renown. 

Caught from the strong contagion of the gown ; 
* Ver. 108—113. f Ver. 114r~132. 



152 THE VANITY OF IIUMAX WISHES. 

O'er Bodley's dome his future labours spread, 
And * Bacon's mansion trembles o'er his head. 
Arc these thy views ? Proceed, illustrious youthj 
And Virtue guard thee to the throne of Truth ! 
Yet, should thy soul indulge the generous heat 
Till captive Science yields her last retreat ; 
Should Reason guide thee with her brightest ray, 
And pour on misty Doubt resistless day ; 
Should no false kindness lure to loose delight^ 
Nor praise relax, nor difficulty fright ; 
Should tempting Novelty thy cell refrain, 
And Sloth effuse her opiate fumes in vain ; 
Should Beauty blunt on fops her fatal dart, 
Nor claim the triumph of a letter'd heart ; 
Should no disease thy torpid veins invade. 
Nor Melancholy's phantoms haunt thy shade ; 
Yet hope nor life from grief or danger free, 
Nor think the doom of man revers'd for thee ; 
Deign on the passing world to turn thine eyes, 
And pause awhile from letters, to be wise ; 
There mark what ills the scholar's life assail, 
Toil, envy, want, the patron, and the gaol. 
See nations, slowly w'ise and meanly just. 
To buried merit raise the tardy bust. 
If dreams yet flatter, once again attend, 
Hear Lydiat's life, and Galileo's end.t 

* There is a tradition, that the study of Friar Bacon, built on 
an arch over the bridge, -will fall m hen a man greater than Bacon 
shall pass under it. To prevent so shocking an accident it 'Nvas 
pulled down many years since. 

t See Gent. Mag. vol. Ixviii. p. 951. 1027. 



THE VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES. 15^ 

N^or deem, when Learning her last prize bestows, 
The glittering eminence exempt from foes ; 
See, when the vulgar 'scapes, despised or aw'd, 
Rebellion's vengeful talons seize on Laud. 
From meaner minds though smaller fines content, 
The plundered palace, or sequester'd rent ; 
Mark'd out by dang'rous parts, he meets the shock, 
And fatal learning leads him to the block ; 
Around his tomb let Art and Genius weep, 
But hear lus death, ye blockheads, hear and sleep. 

* The festal blazes, the triumphal show^ 
The ravish'd standard, and the captive foe. 
The senate *s thanks, the Gazette's pompous tale? 
With force resistless o'er the brave prevail. 
Such bribes the rapid Greek o'er Asia whirl'd, 
For such the steady Romans shook the world ; 
For such in distant lands the Britons shine, 
And stain with blood the Danube or the Rhine ; 
This pow'r has praise, that virtue scarce can warm 
Till fame supplies the universal charm. 
Yet reason frowns on war's unequal game,- 
Where v/asted nations raise a single name ; 
And mortgag'd states their grandsires' wreaths regret? 
From age to age in everlasting debt ; 
Wreaths which at last the dear bought right convey 
To rust on medals, or on stones decay. 

t On what foundation stands the warrior^s pride, 
How just his hopes, let Swedish Charles decide j 

* Ver. 133~l'iG t Ver. I'ir— 16r 



154 THE VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES. 

A frame of adamant, a soul of fire, 

No dangers fright h4m, and no labours tire ; 

O'er love, o'er fear, extends his wide domain, 

Unconquer'd lord of pleasure and of pain ; 

No joys to him pacific sceptres yield, 

War sounds the trump, he rushes to the field ; 

Behold surrounding kings their pow'rs combine, 

And one capitulate, and one resign ; 

Peace courts his hand, but spreads her charms in vain j 

" Think nothing gain'd," he cries, " till nought remain, 

On Moscow's walls till Gothic standards fly, 

And all be mine beneath the polar sky." 

The march begins in military state, 

And nations on his eye suspended wait ; 

Stern Famine guards the solitary eoast, 

And winter barricades the realms of frost ; 

He comes, nor want nor cold his course delay ;..., 

Hide, blushing glory, hide Pultowa's day ; 

The vanquish'd hero leaves his broken bands, 

And shews his miseries in distant lands ; 

Condemn'd a needy supplicant to wait. 

While ladies interpose, and slaves debate. 

But did not Chance at length her error mend ? 

Did no subverted empire mark his end ? 

Did rival monarchs give the fatal wound ? 

Or hostile millions press him to the groimd ? 

His fall was destin'd to a barren strand, 

A petty fortress, and a dubious hand ; 

He left the name, at which the world grew pale , 

To point a mora), or adorn a tale. 



THE VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES. 155 

* All times their scenes of pompous woes afford, 
From Persia's tyrant to Bavaria's lord. 
In gay hostility and barbarous pride, 
With half mankind embattled at his side, 
Great Xerxes comes to seize the certain prey, 
And starves exhausted regions in his way ; 
Attendant Flatt'ry counts his myriads o'er, 
Till counted myriads sooth his pride no more ; 
Fresh praise is try'd till madness fires his mind, 
The waves he lashes, and enchains the wind, 
New pow'rs are claim'd, new pow'rs are sdll bestow'd. 
Till rude resistance lops the spreading god ; 
The daring Greeks deride the martial show. 
And heap their vallies with the gaudy foe ; 
Th' insulted sea with humbler thought he gains, 
A single skiff to speed his flight remahis ; 
Th' incumber'd oar scarce leaves the dreaded coast, 
Through purple billows and a floating host. 

The bold Bavarian, in a luckless hour, 
Tries the dread summits of Cesarean pow'r. 
With unexpected legions bursts away. 
And sees defenceless realms receive his sway ; 
Short sway ! fair Austria spreads her mournful charms* 
The queen, the beauty, sets the world in arms ; 
From hill to hill the beacon's rousing blaze 
Spreads wide the hope of plunder and of praise ; 
The fierce Croatian, and the wild Hussar, 
With all the sons of ravage crowd the war ; 
The baffled prince, in honour's flatt'ring bloom 
Of hasty greatness, finds the fatal doom ; 
* Ver. 168—187. 



156 THE VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES. 

His foes derision, and his subjects blame, 

And steals to death from anguish and from shame 

* Enlarge my life with multitude of days ! 
In health, in sickness, thus the suppliant prays ; 
Hides from himself his state, and shuns to know, 
That life protracted is protracted wo. 
Time hovers o*er, impatient to destroy, 
And shuts up all the passages of joy ;, 
In vain their gifts the bounteous seasons pour, 
The fruit autumnal, and the vernal flow'r ; 
With listless eyes the dotard views the store, 
He views, and ^venders that they please no more : 
Now pall the tasteless meats, and joyless wines, 
And Luxury with sighs her slave resigns. 
Approach, ye minstrels, try the soothing strain. 
Diffuse the tuneful lenitives of pain ; 
No sound, alas ! would touch th' impervious ear. 
Though dancing mountains witness'd Orpheus near ; 
Nor lute nor lyre his feeble pow'r attend, 
Nor sweeter music of a virtuous friend ; 
But everlasting dictates crowd his tongue, 
Perversely grave, or positively wrong. 
The still returning tale, and lingering jest. 
Perplex the fawning niece and pamper'd guest, 
While growing hopes scarce awe the gathering sneer. 
And scarce a legacy can bribe to hear ; 
The watchful guests still hint the last offence ; 
The daughter's petulance, the son's expense, 
Improve his heady rage with treach'rous skill, 
And mould his passions till they make his will. 
* Ver. 188—288. 



THE VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES. I5f 

Unnumber'd maladies his joints invade, 
Lay siege to life, and press the dire blockade ; 
But unextinguish'd av'rice still remains, 
And dreaded losses aggravate his pauis ; 
He turns, with anxious heart and crippled hands. 
His bonds of debt, and mortgages of lands ; 
Or views his coffers with suspicious eyes. 
Unlocks his gold, and counts it till he dies. 
. But*grant, the virtues of a temp'rate prime 
Bless with an age exempt from scorn or crime ; 
An age that melts with unperceiv'd decay. 
And glides in modest innocence away ; 
Whose peaceful day Benevolence endears, 
Whose night congratulating Conscience cheers ; 
The gen'ral fav'iite as the gen*ral friend ; 
Such age there is, and who shall wish its end ? 

Yet e'en on this her load Misfortune flings, 
To press the weary minutes' flagging wings ; 
New sorrow rises as the day returns, 
A sister sickens, or a daughter mourns. 
Now kindred Merit fills the sable bier. 
Now lacerated friendship claims a tear ; 
Year chases year, decay pursues decay, 
Still drops some joy from with'ring life away ; 
New forms arise, and diff*rent views engage, 
Superfluous lags the vet'ran on the stage, 
Till pitying Nature signs the last release, 
And bids afflicted worth retire to peace. 

But few there are whom hours like these await. 
Who set unclouded in the gulfs of fate« 

VOL. I. 14 



iSfil THE VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES, 

From Lydia's monarch should the search descend; 

By Solon caution'd to regard his end, 

In life's last scene what prodigies surprise, 

Fears of the brave, and follies of the wise ! 

From Marlb*rough*s eyes the streams of dotage flow, 

And Swift expires a driv'Ier and a show. 

* The teeming mother, anxious for her race. 
Begs for each birth the fortune of a face ; 
Yet Vane could tell what ills from beauty spring ; 
And Sedley cursM the form that pleas'd a king. 
Ye nymphs of rosy lips and radiant eyes, 
Whom Pleasure keeps too busy to be wise ; 
Whom joys with soft varieties invite, 
By day the frolic, and the dance by night ; 
Who frown with vanity, who smile with art, 
And ask the latest fashion of the heart ; 
What care, what rules, your heedless charms shall save^ 
Each nymph your rival, and each youth your slave ? 
Against your fame with fondness hate combines, 
The rival batters, and the lover minesc 
With distant voice neglected Virtue calls. 
Less heard and less, the faint remonstrance falls ; 
Tir'd with contempt, slie quits the slipp'ry reign, 
And pride and prudence take her seat in vain. 
In crowd at once, where none the pass defend. 
The harmless freedom, and the private friend. 
The guardians yield, by force superior ply'd ; 
To Int'rest, Prudence ; and to Flatt'ry, Pride. 
Here Beauty falls betray*d, despis'd, distressed. 
And hissing Infamy proclaims the rest. 

* Ver. £ 89-- 845 



THE VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES. i59 

* Where then shall Hope and Fear their objects find ? 
Must dull suspence corrupt the stagnant mind ? 
Must helpless man, in ignorance sedate, , 
Roll darkling down the torrent of his fate ? 
Must no dislike alarm, no wishes rise, 
No cries invoke the mercies of the skies ? 
Inquirer, cease ; petitions yet remain 
Which Heav'n may hear, nor deem Religion vain. 
Still raise for good the supplicating voice, 
But leave to Heav*n the measure and the choice. 
Safe in his pow'r, whose eyes discern afar 
The secret ambush of a specious pray'r ; 
Implore his aid, in his decisions rest. 
Secure, whate*er he gives, he gives the best. 
Yet, when the sense of sacred presence fires, 
And strong devotion to the skies aspires. 
Pour forth thy fervours for a healthful mind, 
Obedient passions, and a will resigned ; 
For love, which scarce collective man can fill ; 
For patience, sovereign o*er transmuted ill ; 
For faith, that, panting for a happier seat. 
Counts death kind nature's signal of retreat ; 
These goods for man the laws of Heav'n ordain, 
These goods he grants, who grants the pow'r to gain ; 
With these celestial Wisdom calms the mind, 
And makes the happiness she does not find. 

* Ver. 346—566. 



PROLOGUE, 

SPOKEN BY MR. GARRICK, 

AT THE OPENING OF THE THEATRE ROYAL, DRURT 
LANE, 1747. 



\T HEN Learning's triumph o*er her barbarous foes 
First rear'd the stage, immortal Shakspeare rose j 
Each change of many colour'd life he drew, 
Exhausted worlds, and then imagin'd new ; 
Existence saw him spurn her bounded reign. 
And panting Time toil'd after him in vain. 
His pow'rful strokes presiding truth impressed, 
And unresisted passion storm'd the breast. 

Then Jonson came, instructed from the school, 
To please in method, and invent by rule j 
His studious patience and laborious art, 
By regular approach assail'd the heart ; 
Cold Approbation gave the lingering bays. 
For those, who durst not censure, scarce could praise. 
A mortal born, he met the general doom. 
But left, like Egypt's kings, a lasting tomb. 

The wits of Charles found easier ways to fame, 
Nor wish'd for Jonson's art, or Shakspeare *s flame, 
Themselves they studied, as they felt they writ ; 
Intrigue was plot, obscenity was wit. 



ioC PJROLOGtTfc 

Vice always found a sympathetic friend ; 

They pleas'd their age, and did not aim to mend. 

Yet bards like these aspir'd to lasting praise, 

And proudly hop'd to pimp in future days. 

Their cause was gen*ral, their supports were strong. 

Their slaves were willing, and their reign was long ; 

Till Shame regain'd the post that Sense betray'd, 

And Virtue call'd Oblivion to her aid. 

Then, crush'd by rules, and weakened as refin'd, 
For years the pow'r of Tragedy declin'd ; 
From bard to bard the frigid caution crept. 
Till Declamation roar'd, whilst Passion slept ; 
Yet still did Virtue deign the stage to tread, 
Philosophy remain'd, though Nature fled. 
But forc*d, at length, her ancient reign to quit, 
She saw great Faustus lay the ghost of wit ; 
Exulting Folly hail'd the joyful day. 
And Pantomime and Song confirm'd her sway. 

But who the coming changes can presage, 
And mark the future periods of the stage ? 
Perhaps, if skill could distant times explore, 
New Behns, new Durfeys, yet remain in store ; 
Perhaps where Lear hasrav'd, and Hamlet dy'd, 
On flying cars new sorcerers may ride ; 
Perhaps, for who can guess th' effects of chance ? 
Here Hunt may box, or Mahomet * may dance. 

Hard is his lot that, here by fortune plac'd, 
Must watch the wild vicissitudes of taste ; 

* Hunt, a famous boxer on the stage ; Mahomet, a rope dan- 
ecr, who had exliibited at Covent Garden Theatre the winter be- 
fore, said to be a Turk, 



PROLOGUE. 16S 

With ev'r)' meteor of caprice must play, 
And chase the new blown bubbles of the day. 
Ah ! let not Censure term our fate our choice, 
The stage but echoes back the public voice ; 
The drama's laws, the drama's patrons give. 
For we that live to please, must please to live. 
Then prompt no more the follies you decry, 
As tyrants doom their tools of guilt to die ; 
*Tis yours, this night, to bid the reign commence 
Of rescued Nature and reviving Sense ; 
To chase the charms of Sound, the pomp of Show,. 
For useful Mirth and salutary Wo ; 
Bid scenic virtue form the rising age, 
And Truth diffuse her radiance from the stage. 



IRENE; 

A 

TRAGEDY. 



PROLOGUE. 



JL E glitt*^ring train, whom lace and velvet bless. 

Suspend the soft solicitudes of dress I 

From grov'Ung- business and superfluous care, 

Ye sons of Avarice, a moment spare ! 

Vot'ries of Fame, and worshippers of Power 

Dismiss the pleasing phantoms for an hour I 

Our daring bard, with spirit unconfin'd, 

Spreads wide tlie mighty moral for manldnd. 

Learn here how Heav'n supports the virtuous mind, 

Daring, though calm ; and vig'rous, though resign'dj 

Learn here what anguish racks the guilty breast. 

In pow'r dependent, in success deprest. 

Learn here that Peace from Innocence must flow ; 

All else is empty sound and idle show. 

If truths like these with pleasing language join ; 
Ennobled, yet unchanged, if Nature shine ; 
If no wild draught depart from Reason's rules, 
Nor gods his heroes, nor his lovers fools ; 
Intriguing Wits 1 his artless plot forgive ; 
And spare him, Beauties 1 though his lovers live. 

Be this at least his praise, be this his pride ; 
To force applause no moden^ arts are tiy'd. 
Should partial cat calls all his hopes confound, 
He bids no trumpet quell the fatal sounds 



168 PROLOGUE. 

Should welcome sleep relieve the weary wit, 
He rolls no thunders o'er the drowsy pit. 
No snares to captivate the judgment spreads, 
Nor bribes your eyes to prejudice your heads . 
Unmov'd though Witlings sneer and Rivals rail ; 
Studious to please, yet not asham'd to fail. 
He scorns the meek address, the suppliant strain, 
With merit needless, and without it vain. 
In Reason, Nature, Truth, he dares to trust ; 
Ye Fops, be silent ; and ye Wits, be just I 



YOL» 1. 15 



PERSONS OF THE DRAMA. 
MEN. 



Mahomet, 

Cali Bassa, 

mustapha, 

Abdalla, 

Hasan, 

Caraza, 

Demetrius, 

Leontius, 

Murza, 



ASPASIA, 

Irene, 



Emp. of the Turks, Mr. Barry. 



First Visier, 
A Turkish Aga, 
An Officer, 

Turkish Captains, 

Greek Noblemen, 
An Eunuch, 

WOMEN. 
Greek Ladies, 



Mr. Berry. 

Mr. Sonvden. 

Mr. Havard. 
C Mr. Usher. 
\ Mr. Burton. 

Mr, Gar rick. 

Mr. Blakes. 

Mr. King, 



Mrs. Cibber. 
Mrs, Pritchard. 



ATTENDANTS ON IRENE. 



IRENE; 



TRAGEDY. 

ACT I. 
SCENE I. ,^ 

Demetrius and Leontius, in Turkish habits. 
Leontius. 

And is it thus Demetrius meets his friend, 
Hid in the mean disguise of Turkish robes, 
"With servile secrecy to lurk in shades, 
And vent our suff 'rings in clandestine groans ? 

Demetrius. 
Till breathless fury wrested from destruction, 
These groans were fatal, these disguises vain ; 
But now our Turkish conquerors have quench'd 
Their rage, and pall'd their appetite of murder ; 
No more the glutted sabre thirsts for blood, 
And weary cruelty remits her tortures. 

Leontius. 
Yet Greece enjoys no gleam of transient hope, 
No sootliing interval of peaceful sorrow ; 
The lust of gold succeeds the rage of conquest, 
The lust of gold, unfeeling and remorseless, 



\72 



IRENE 



The last corruption of degenerate man 1 
Urg'd by the imperious soldier's fierce command, 
The groaning Greeks break up their golden caverns 
Pregnant with stores that India's mines might envy, 
Th' accumulated wealth-of toiling ages. *• 

Demetritts. 
That wealth, too sacred for their country's use 1 
That wealth, too pleasing to be lost for freedom ! 
That wealth, which, granted to their weeping prince; 
Had rang'd embattled nations at our gates ! 
But, thus reserved to lure the wolves of Turkey,, 
Adds shame to grief, and infamy to ruin. 
Lamenting Av'rice now too late discovers 
Her own neglected in the public safety, 
Leontius* 

Reproach not misery The sons of Greece, 

111 fated race I so oft besieg'd in vain. 
With false security beheld invasion. 

Why should they fear ? That pow'r that kindly 

spreads 
The clouds, a signal of impending show'rs, 
To warn the wandering linnet to the shade, 
Beheld without concern expiring Greece, 
And not one protligy foretold our fate. 

Demetrius. 
A thousand horrid prodigies foretold it- 
A feeble government, eluded laws, 
A factious populace, luxurious nobles, 
And all the maladies of sinking states. 
When public Villainy, too strong for juslice-, 



A TRAGEDY If' 

Shews his bold front, the harbinger of ruin, 
Can brave Leontius call for airy wonders, 
Which cheats interpret, and which fools regard ? 
When some neglected fabric nods beneath 
The wHght of years, and totters to the tempest, 
Must Heav'n despatch the messengers of light, 
Or wake the dead, to warn us of its fall ? 

jLeontlus. 
Well might the weakness of our empire sink 
Before such foes of more than human force ; 
Some pow'r invisible, from Heav'n or Hell, 
Conducts their armies, and asserts their cause. 

Demetrius. 
And yet, my friend, what miracles were wrought 
Beyond the pow'r of constancy and courage ? 
Did unresisted lightning aid their cannon ? 
Did roaring whirlwinds sweep us from the ramparts ? 
Twas vice that shook our nerves, 'twas vice, Leontius, 
That froze our veins, and wither'd all our pow'rs. 

Leontius. 
Whate'er our crimes, our woes demand compassion - 
Each night, protected by the friendly darkness, 
Quitting my close retreat, I range the city. 
And, weeping, kiss the venerable ruins ; 
With silent pangs I view the tow'ring domes, 
Sacred to pray'r ; and wander through the streets, 
Where commerce lavish'd unexhausted plenty. 
And jollity maintain'd eternal revels 

Demetrius. 

How chang'd, alas I Now ghastly desolation 

In triumph sits upon our shattered spires j 
15* 



17 A IRENE ; 

Now superstition, ignorance, and error, 
Usurp our temples, and profane our altars = 

Leo?7tius. 
From ev'ry palace bursts a mingled clamoui .- 
TJie dreadful dissonance of barb'rous triumph- * 
Shrieks of affright and wailings of distress. 
Oft when the cries of violated beauty- 
Arose to Heav'n, and pierc'dmy bleeding breast-. ■ 
I felt thy pains, and trembled for Aspasia. 

De7netj'iu3. 
Aspasia ! spare that lov'Vl, that mournful name ; 

Dear hapless maid tempestuous grief o'erbears 

My reasoning pow'rs Dear, hapless, lost Aspasia ' 

Leondus. 
Suspend the thought. 

Danetiius,, 

AUthought on her is madness 

Yet let me think... .1 see the helpless maid, 

Behold the monsters gaze with savage rapture, 

Behold how lust and rapine struggle round her 1 

Leontius. 
Awake, Demetrius, from this dismal dream, 

Sink not beneath imaginary sorrows ; 

Call to your aid your courage and your wisdom ; 

Think on the sudden change of human scenes ; 

Think on the various accidents of war j 

Think on the mighty power of awful virtue ; 

Think on that Providence that guards the good. 

jDe7neirius. 

O Providence ! extend thy care to me, 

Tor courage droops unequal to the combat, 



A TRAGEDY. IT5 

And weak Philosophy denies her succours. 
Sure some kind sabre in the heat of battle? 
Ere yet the foe found leisure to be cruel, 
Dismiss'd her to the sky. 

Leontius. M 

Some virgin martyr^ «| 

Pjgrhaps, enamoured of resembling virtue, 
^Vith gentle hand restrain'd the streams of life, 
\nd shatch'd her timely from her country's fate- 

Demetrius. 
From those bright regions of eternal day, 
Where now thou shin'st among thy fellow saints, 
Array'd in purer light, look down on me ; 
In pleasing visions and assuasive dreams, 

! sooth my soul, and teach me how to lose thee. 

Leontius. 
Enough of unavailing tears, Demetrius ; 

1 came obedient to tliy friendly summons, 

And hop'd to share thy counsels, not thy sorrows : 
While thus we mourn the fortune of Aspasia, ■ '*• 
To what are we reserv'd ? 

Demetnus. 

To what I know not j 
But hope, yet hope, to happiness and honour ; 
If happiness can be without Aspasia. 

Leontius. 
;>ut whence this new sprung hope ? 
Demetrius. 

From Cali Bassa, 
The chief, whose wisdom guides the Turkish counsels, 
He, tir'd of slavery, though the highest slavej 



176 IRENE; 

Projects at once our freedom and his own ; 
And bids us thus disguis'd await him here. 

Leontiiis. 
Can he restore the state he could not save ? 
In vain, when Turkey's troops assail'd our walls, 
f lis kind intelligence betrayed their measures ; 
Their arms prevail'd, though Cali was our friend, 

Demetrius. 
When the tenth sun had set upon our sorrows, 
At midnighi's private hour, a voice unknown 
Sounds in my sleeping ear, " Awake, Demetrius, 
Awake, and follow me to better fortunes." 
Surpris'd I start, and bless the happy dream ; 
Then, rousing, know the fiery chief Abdalla, 
Whose quick impatience seiz'd my doubtful hand, 
And led me to the shore where Cali stood, 
Pensive and iist'ning to the beating surge. 
There, in soft hints and in ambiguous phrase, 
With all the diffidence of long experience. 
That off had practis'd fraud, and oft detected, 
The vet'ran courtier half reveal'd his project. 
By his command, equipp'd for speedy flight, 
Deep in a winding creek a galley lies, 
iNIann'd with the bravest of our fellow captives, 
Selected by my care, a hardy band, 
That long to hail thee cliief. 

Leontius. 

But what avails 
So small a force ? Or why should Cali fly ? 
Or how can Cali*s flight restci'e our country ? 



A TRAGEDY. 

Demetrius. 
Reserve these questions for a safer hour j 
Or hear himself, for see the Bassa comes. 

SCENE II. 

DEMETRIUS, LEONTIUS, CALI BASSA. 

Cali, 
Now summon all thy soul, illustrious Christian 1 
Awake each faculty that sleeps within thee, 
The courtier's policy, the sage*s firmness. 
The warrior's ardour, and the patriot's zeal ; 
If, chasing past events with vain pursuit, 
Or wand'ring in the wilds of future being, 
A single thought now rove, recal it home. 
But can thy friend sustain the glorious cause, 
The cause of liberty, the cause of nations ? 

Demetrius^ 
Observe him closely with a statesman's eye. 
Thou that hast long perus'd the draughts of nature? 
And know'stthe characters of vice and virtue, 
Left by the hand of Heav'n on human clay. 

Call. 
His mien is lofty, his demeanour great ; 
Nor sprightly folly wantons in his air, 
Nor dull serenity becalms his eyes. 
Such had I trusted once as soon as seen, 
But cautious age suspects the flatt'iing fern;- 
And only credits what experience tells. 
Has silence press'd her seal upon his lips ^ 



177 



178 rRENE ; 

Does adamantine faith invest his heart ? 
Will he not bend beneath a tyrant's frown ? 
Will he not melt before ambition's fire ? 
Will he not soften in a friend's embrace ? 
Or flow dissolving in a woman's tears ? 

Demetnus. 
Sooner the trembling leaves shall find a voice, 
And tell the secrets of their conscious walks ; 
Sooner the breeze shall catch the flying sounds, 
And shock the tyrant with a tale of treason. 
Your slaughter'd multitudes that swell the shore 
With monuments of death, proclaim his courage ; 
Virtue and liberty engross his soul, 
And leave no place for perfidy or fear. 

Leontius, 
I scorn a trust unwillingly repos'd ; 
Demetrius will not lead me to dishonour ; 
Consult 4n private, call me when your scheme 
Is ripe for action, and demands the sword. \_Going. 

Demetrius, 
Leontius, stay. 

CaH. 
Forgive an old man's weakness, 
And share the deepest secrets of my soul, 

My wrongs, my fears, my motives, my designs 

When unsuccessful wars, and civil factions, 
Embroil'd the Turkish state, our Sultan's father, 
Great Amurath, at my request, forsook 
The cloister's ease, resum'd the tott'ring throne, 
And snatch'd the reins of abdicated pow'r 
From giddy Mahomet's unskilful hand. 



A TRAGEDY. 179 

This fir'd the youthful king's ambitious breast ; 
He murmurs vengeance at the name of Cali, 
And dooms my rash fidelity to ruin. 

Demetrius. 
Unhappy lot of all that shine in courts, 
For forc'd compliance, or for zealous virtue, 
Still odious to the monarch or the people. 

Cali, 
Such are the woes when arbitrary pow'r, ^ 
And lawless passion, hold the sword of justice. 
If there be any land, as fame reports, 
Where common laws restrain the prince and subject, 
A happy land, where circulating pow'r 
Flows through each member of th' embodied state ; 
Sure, not unconscious of the mighty blessing, 
Her grateful sons shine bright with every virtue j 
Untainted with the kret of innovation. 
Sure all unite to hold her league of rule 
Unbroken as the sacred chain of nature, 
That links the jarring elements in peace. 

Leontius. 
But say, great Bassa, why the Sultan's anger, 
Burning in vain, delays the stroke of death ? 

Cali. 
Young, and unsettled in liis father's kingdoms. 
Fierce as he was, he dreaded to destroy 
The empire's darling, and the soldier's l)oast ; 
But now confirm'd, and swelling with his conquests, 
Secure he tramples my declimng fame, 
Frowns unrestrain'd, and dooms me with his eyes. 



•^. 



igC IRENE , 

Demetrius, 
What can reverse thy doom ? 
Call, 

The tyrant's death < 
Demetrius, 
But Greece is still forgot. 

Cali. 
On Asia's coast, 
Which lately bless»d my gentle government, 
Soon as the Sultan's unexpected fate 
Fills all th' astonish'd empire with confusion, 
My policy shall raise an easy throne ; 
The Turkish pow'rs. from Europe shall retreat, 
And harass Greece no more with wasteful war. 
A galley mann'd with Greeks, thy charge, Leontius, 
Attends to waft us to repose and safety. 

Demetrius. ■ 
That vessel, if observ'd, alarms the court. 
And gives a thousand fatal questions birth ; 
Why stor'^d for flight ? and why prepar*d by Cali ? 

Cali. 
This hour I'li beg, with unsuspecting face 
Leave to perform my pilgrimage to Mecca ; 
Which granted, hides my purpose from the world, 
And, though refus'd, conceals it from the Sultan. 

Leontius. 
How can a single hand attempt a life 
Which armies guard, and citadels enclose ? 

Cali. 
Forgetful of command, with captive beauties. 
Far from his troops, he toys his hours a^vuy. 



A TRAGEDY 



181 



A roving soldier seiz'd, in Sophia's temple, 
A virgin shining with distinguished charms, 
And brought his beauteous plunder to the Sultan. 

Z)e7)iet}'ius. 
In Sophia's temple I..... What alarm 1.., ..Proceed. 

Cali. 
The Sultan gaz'd, he wonder'd, and he lov'd ; 
In passion lost, he bade the conqu'ring fair 
Renounce her faith, and be the queen of Turkey. 
The pious maid, with modest indignation, 
Threw back the giitt'ring hrJbe. 
Demetrius. 

Celestial goodness ! 
Tt must, it must be she ; her name ? 
Call. 

Aspasia. 
De?netrius. 
What hopes, what terrors, rush upon my soul ! 
O lead me quickly to the scene of fate ; 
Break through the politician's tedious forms ; 
Aspasia calls me, let me fly to save her. 

Leontius* 
Did Mahomet reproach or praise her virtue ? 

.Call. 
His offers oft repeated, still refusM, 
At length rekindled his accustom'd fury. 
And chang'd th' endearing smile and am*rous whisper 
To threats of torture, death, and vjfolation. 

Demetnus. 
These tedious narratives of frozen age 
Distract my soul ; despatch thy Ung'ring tale j 

VOL. I. 16 



182 IRENE , 

Say, did a voice from Heav'n restrain the tyrant ? 
Did interposing angels guard her from him ? 

Call. 
Just in the moment of impending fate, 
Another phmd'rer brought the bright Irene, 
Of equal beauty, but of softer mien, 
Fear in her eye, submission on her tongue, 
Her mournful charms attracted his regards, 
Disarm'd his rage, and in repeated visits 
Gain'd all his heart ; at length his eager love 
To her transferr'd the offer of a crown. 

J^eontius. 
Nor found again the bright temptation fail ? 

Cali. 
Trembling to grant, nor daring to refuse. 
While Heav*n and Mahomet divide her fears, 
With coy caresses and with pleasing wiles 
She feeds his hopes, and sooths him to delay. 
For her, repose is banish'd from the mght. 
And business from thq day. In her apartments 
He lives 

Leontius. 
And there must fall. 
Cali. 

But yet th' attempt 
Is hazardt>us. 

Leontius. 
Forbear to speak of hazards ; 
What has the wretch that has surviv*d his country,. 
His friends, his liberty, to hazard ? 



A TRAGEDY. S8i 

CalL 

Life. 
Demetrius. 
Th' inestimable privilege of breathing ! 
Important hazard ! What's that airy bubble, 
When weigh'd with Greece, with Virtue, with Aspasia -•* 
A floating atom, dust that fails unheeded 
Into the adverse scale, nor shakes the balance. 
Cali, 

At least this day be calm If we succeed, 

Aspasia's thine, and all thy life is rapture 

See 1 IMustapha, the tyrant's minion, comes ; 
Invest Leontius with his new command; 
And wait Abdalla's unsuspected visits j 
Hemember Freedom, Glory, Greece, and Love. 

[Exeunt Demetrius and Leontiu-s 

SCENE III. 

CALI, MUSTAPHA. 

Musiapha. 
By what enchantment does this lovely Greek 
Hold in her chains the captivated Sultan ? 
He tires his fav'rites with Irene's praise, 
And seeks the shades to muse upon Irene j 
Irene steals unheeded from his tongue. 
And mingles unperceiv'd with ev'ry thought. 

Cali. 
Why should the Sultan shun the joys of beauty. 
Or arm his breast against the force of love ? 



184 I«ENK; 

Love, that with sweet vicissitude relieves 

The warrior's labours and the monarch's care&. 

But will she yet receive tlie faith of Mecca ? 

Mustapha. 
Those powerful tyrants of the female breast, 
Fear and Ambition, urge her to compliance ; 
Dress'd in each charm of gay magnificence, 
Alluring grandeur courts her to his arms, 
Religion calls her from the wish'd embrace, 
Paints future joys, and points to distant glories. 

Call. 
Soon will th' unequal contest be decided, 
Prospects, obscur'd by distance, faintly strike ; 
Each pleasure brightens at its near approach, 
And ev'ry danger shocks with double horror. 

Mustapka. 
How shall I scorn the beautiful apostate ; 
How will the bright Aspasia shine above her 1 

Cali. 
Should she, for proselytes are always zealous, 
With piovis warmth receive our prophet's law 

Mustapha. 
Heav'n will contemn the mercenary fervour, 
Which love of greatness, not of truth, inflames, 

Cali. 
Cease, cease thy censures ; for the Sultan comes 
Alone, with am'rous haste to seek his love. 



A TRAGEDY. U'^ 

SCENE IV. 

MAHOMET, CALI BASSA, MUSTAPHA 

Call. 
Hail ! terror of the monarchs of the world, 
Unshaken be thy throne as earth's firm base? 
Live till the sun forgets to dart his beams. 
And weary planets loiter in their courses ! 

Mahomet. 
But, Cali, let Irene share thy prayers j 
For what is length of days without Irene ? 
I come from empty noise, and tasteless pomp, 
From crowds that hide a monarch from himself, 
To prove the sweets of privacy and friendship. 
And dwell upon the beauties of Irene. 
Cali. 

may her beauties last unchanged by time. 
As those that bless the mansions of the good ! 

Mahomet. 
Each realm where beauty turns the graceful shape^ 
Swells the fair breast, or animates the glance, 
Adorns my palace with its brightest virgins ; 
Yet, unacquainted with these soft emotions, 

1 walk'd superior through tlie blaze of charms, 
Prais'd without rapture, left without regret. 
Why rove I now, when absent from my fair. 
From solitude to crowds, from crowds to solitude^ 
Still restless, till I clasp the lovely maid. 

And ease my loaded soul upon her bosom ? 
!6* 



186 IRE^'Ei 

Mustapha. 
Forgive, great Sultan, that intrusive duty 
Inquires the final doom of Menodorus, 
The Grecian counsellor. 

Mahomet. 

Go see him die ; 
His martial rhet*ric taught the Greeks resistance ; 
Had they prevaird, I ne'er had known Irene. 

[^Exit Mustapha. 

SCENE V. 

MAHOMET, CALL 

Mahomet. 
Remote from tumult, in th' adjoining palace. 
Thy care shall guard this treasure of my soul ; 
There let Aspasia, since my fair entreats it. 
With converse chase the melancholy moments. 
Sure, chiO'd with sixty winter camps, thy blood 
At sight of female charms will glow no more. 

Cali. 
These years, unconquer*d Mahomet, demand 
Desires more pure, and other cares than Love. 
Long have I wish'd, before our prophet's tomb, 
To pour my pray'rs for thy successful reign, 
To quit the tumults of the noisy camp. 
And sink into the silent grave in peace. 

Mahomet. 
What I think of peace while haughty Scanderbeg. 
Elate with conquest, in his native movintains, 



A TRAGEDY. 187 

Prowls o'er the wealthy spoils of bleeding Turkey 1 
While fair Hungaria's unexhausted vallies 
Pour forth their legions, and the roaring Danube 
Rolls half his floods unheard through shouting camps I 
Nor could'st thou more support a life of sloth 
Than Amurath 

Call. 
Still full of Amurath. [Aside, 

Mahomet. 
Than Amurath, accustom'd to command, 
Could bear his son upon the Turkish throne. 

Call. 

This pilgrimage our lawgiver ordain'd 

Mahomet. 
For those who could not please by nobler service..... 
Our warlike prophet loves an active faith, 
The holy flame of enterprising virtue. 
Mocks the dull vows of solitude and penance, 
And scorns the lazy hermit's cheap devotion.. 
Shine thou, distinguished by superior merit, 
With wonted zeal pursue the task of war, 
Till ev'ry nation reverence the Koran, 
And every suppliant lift his eyes to Mecca* 

Call. 
This regal confidence, this pious ardour, 
Let prudence moderate, though not suppress. 
Is not each realm that smiles with kinder suns, 
Or boasts a happier soil, already thine ? 
Extended empire, like expanded gold, 
Exchanges solid strength for feeble splendour. 



1^8 IRENE; 

]\h.hom€t. 
Preach thy dull politics to vulgar kings, 
Thou know'st not yet thy master's future greatnessj 
His vast designs, his plans of boundless pow'r. 
When ev'ry stoiTn in my domain shall roar, 
When ev'ry wave shall beat a Turkish shore ; 
Then, Cali, shall the toils of battle cease, 
Then dream of prayer, and pilgrimage, and peace. 

[^Exeunt' 



ACT II. 

SCENE I. 

ASPASIA, IRENE. 

Irene. 
Aspasia, yet pursue the sacred theme ; 
Exhaust the stores of pious eloquence. 
And teach me to repel the Sultan's passion. 
Still at Aspasia's voice a sudden rapture 
Exalts my soul, and fortifies my heart. 
The glitt'ring vanities of empty greatness, 
The hopes and fears, the joys and pains of life,. 
Dissolve in air, and vanish into nothing. 

Asjiada. 
.Eet nobler hopes and juster fears succeed. 
And bar the passes of Irene's mind 
Against returning guilt. 



A TRAGEDY. 18^ 

Irene, 

When thou art absent, 
Death rises to my view, with all his terrors ; 
Then visions, horrid as a murd'rer's dreams, 
Chill my resolves, and blast my blooming virtue ; 
Stern Torture shakes his bloody scourge before me. 
And Anguish gnashes on the fcital wheel. 

Aspasia. 
Since fear predominates in ev'ry thought, 
And sways thy breast with absolute dominion, 
Think on th' insulting scorn, the conscious pangs, 
The future miseries that wait th' apostate j 
So shall Timidity assist thy reason. 
And Wisdom into virtue turn thy frailty. 

Irene. 
Will not that Power thatform*d the heart of woman, 
And wove the feeble texture of her nerves, 
Forgive those fears that shake the tender frame ? 

Asfiania. 
The weakness we lament, ourselves create ; 
Instructed from our infant years to court. 
With counterfeited fears, the aid of man. 
We learn to shudder at the rustling breeze, 
Start at the light, and tremble in the dark ; 
Till, aifectation ripening to belief. 
And Folly frighted at her own chimeras, 
Habitual cowardice usurps the soul. 

Irene. 
Not all like thee can brave the shocks of fate. 
Thy soul, by nature great, enlarg'd by knowledge* 



190 IRENE ; 

Soars unincumbei'd with our idle cares, 
And oil Aspasia, but her beauty, *s man. 

Asjiasia, 
Each generous sentiment is thine, Demetrius, 
Whose soul, perhaps, yet mindful of Aspasia, 
Now hovers o'er this melancholy shade, 
Well pleas'd to find thy precepts not forgotten, 
O ! could the grave restore the pious hero, 
Soon would his art or valor set us free, 
And bear us far from servitude and crimes. 

Irene, 
He yet may live. 

Alas i delusive dream I 
Too well I know him 5 his immoderate courage, 
Th' impetuous sallies of excessive virtue, 
Too strong for love, have hurried him on death. 

SCENE II. 

ASPASIA, IRENE, CALI, ABDALLA, 

CALi to ABDALLA, US they advance . 

Behold our future Sultaness, Abdalla ; 

Let artful flatt'iy now, to lull suspicion, 
Glide through Irene to the Sultan's ear. 
Wouldst thou subdue the obdurate cannibal 
To tender friendship, praise him to his mistress. 

[7b Irene, '\ 
Well may those eyes that view these heavenly charm.s 
Reject the daughters of contending kings j 



A TllAGEBY. 19 

For what are pompous titles, proud alliance, 
Empire or wealth, to excellence like thine ? 

jibdalia. 
Receive th' impatient Sultan to thy arms ; 
And may a long posterity of monarchs, 
The pride and terror of succeeding days, 
Rise from the happy bed ; and future queens 
Diffuse Irene's beauty through the world I 

Irene. 
Can Mahomet's imperial hand descend 
To clasp a slave ? or can a soul like mine, 
Unus'd to pow'r, and form'd for humbler scenes. 
Support the splendid miseries of greatness ? 

Cali. 
No regal pageant deck'd with casual honours, 
Scorn'd by his subjects, trampled by his foes, 
No feeble tyrant of a petty state, 
Courts thee to shake on a dependent throne ; 
Born to command, as thoi|jto charm mankind, 
The Sultan from himself derives his greatness. 
Observe, bright maid, as his resistless voice 
Drives on the tempest of destructive w^ar, 
How nation after nation fulls before him. 

■ Abdalla. 
At his dread imme the distant mountains shake 
Their cloudy summits, and the sons of fierceness, 
That range uncivilized from rock to rock, 
Distrust th' eternal fortresses of nature. 
And wish their gloomy caverns more obscure. 



i&2 IRENE ; 

Asfiasia. 
Forbear this lavish pomp of dreadful praise ; 
The horrid images of war and slaughter 
Renew our sorrows, and awake our fears. 

Abdalla. 
Cali, methinks j'on waving trees afford 
A doubtful glimpse of our approaching friends ; 
Just as I mark'd them they forsook the shore, 
And turn'd their hasty steps towards the garden. 

Cali. 
Conduct these queens, Abdalla, to the palace ; 
Such heav'nly beauty, form'd for adoration. 
The pride of monarchs, the reward of conquest ? 
Such beauty must not shine to vulgar eyes. 

SCENE III. 

CALI, solus. 

How Heav'n, in scorn of human arrogance, 
Commits to trivial chance the fate of nations ! 
While with incessant thought laborious man 
Extends his raighty schemes of wealth and pow'r^ 
And towers and triumphs in ideal greatness ; 
Some accidental gust of opposition 
Blasts all the beauties of his new creation, 
O'ertums the fabric of presumptuous reason, 
And whelms the swelling architect beneath it. 
Had not the breeze untwin'd the meeting boughs, 
And through the parted shade disclos'd the Greeks, 



A TRAGEDY. 19J 

Th' important hour had pass'd unheeded by, 

In all the sweet oblivion of delight, 

In all the fopperies of meeting lovers ; 

In sighs and tears, in transports and embraces^ 

In soft complaints, and idle protestations. 

SCENE IV. 

CALI, DEMETRIUS, LEONTIUS. 

Call, 
Could omens fright the resolute and v*'ise. 
Well might we fear impending disappointments^ 

Leontiiis. 
Your artful suit, your monarch's fierce denial, 
The cruel doom of hapless Menodorus 

Demetrius, 
And your new charge, that dear, that heavenly maid..... 

Leontius^ 
All this we know already from Abdalla. 

JDemetnus. 
Such slight defeats but animate the brave 
To stronger efforts and maturer counsels. 

Call, 
My doom confirm'd establishes my purposed 
Calmly he heard till Amurath's resumption 
Rose to his thought, and set his soul on fire ; 
When from his lips the fatal name burst out, 
A sudden pause th' imperfect sense suspended, 
Like the dread stillness of condensing storms. 

VOL. I, 17 



1'94 IRENE; ^ 

Demetrius. 
The loudest cries of Nature urge us forward ; 
Despotic rage pursues tlie life of Cali ; 
His groaning country claims Leontius* aid ; 
And yet another voice, forgive me, Greece, 
The powerful voice of Love inflames Demetrius^ 
Each lingering hour alarms me for Aspasia. 

Cali. 
What passions reign among thy crew, Leontius ? 
Does cheerless diffidence oppress their hearts ? 
Or sprightly hope exalt their kindling spirits ? 
Do they with pain repress the struggling shout, 
And listen eager to the rising wind ? 

Leo7itius, 
All there is hope, and gaiety, and courage, 
No cloudy doubts, or languishing delays ; 
Ere 1 could range them on the crowded deck, 
At once an hundred voices thunder'd round mcj 
And ev'ry voice was liberty and Greece. 

Demetrius. 
Swift let us rush upon the careless tyrant, 
Nor give him leisure for another crime* 

Leontius. 
Then let us now resolve, nor idly waste 
Another hour in dull deliberation. 

Cali. 
But see, where destin'd to protract our counsels, 

Comes Mustapha Your Turkish robes conceal you. 

lletire with speed, while I prepare to meet him 
With artificial smiles, and seeming friendship » 



A TRAGEDY. 19^ 



SCENE V. 



CALI,MUSTAFHA. 



Call. 
I see the gloom that low'rs upon thy brow ; 
These days of love and pleasure charm ™Hthee y 
Too slow these gentle constellations roll ; 
Thou long'st for stars that frown on human kind, 
And scatter discord from their baleful beams.. 

Mustapha. 
How blest art thou, still jocund and serene^ 
Beneath the load of business, and of years ! 

Call. 
Sure, by some wond'rous sympathy of souls, 
My heart still beats responsive to the Sultan's ; 
I share, by secret instinct, all his joys, 
And feel no sorrow while my sov'reign smiles* 

Mustapha, 
The Sultan comes, impatient for his love ; 
Conduct her hither ; let no rude intrusion 
Molest these private walks, or care invade 
These hours assign'd to pleasure and Irene. 

SCENE VI. 

MAKOMET, MUSTAPHA. 

Mahomet. 
Now, Mustapha, pursue thy tale of horror. 
Has treason's dire infection reach'd my palace ? 
Can Call dare the stroke of heav'nly justice 



19S IRENE ; 

In the dark precincts of the gaping grave, 
And load with perjuries his parting soul ? 
Was it for this, that, sick'ning in Epirus, 
My father call'd me to his couch of death, 
Join*d Cali*s hand to mine, and falt'ring cry'd> 
Restrain the fervour of impetuous youth 
With venerable Cali*s faithful counsels ? 
Are these the counsels, this the faith of Caii ? 
Were all our favours lavished on a villain ? 

Confest? 

Mustafiha, 
Confest by dying Menodorus. 
In his last agonies the gasping coward, 
Amidst the tortures of the -burning steel, 
Still fond of life, groaned out the dreadful secret, ' 
Held forth this fatal scroll, then sunk to nothing, 

Mahomety examining the pa/ier. 
His correspondence with our foes of Greece ! 
His hand ! his seal 1 The secrets of my soul 
Conceal'd from all but him ! All, all conspire 
To banish doubt, and brand him for a villain ! 
Our schemes for ever cross'd, our mines discovered, 
Betray'd some traitor lurking near my bosom. 
Oft have I rag'd, when their wide wasting cannon 
I. ay pointed at our batt'ries yet unform'd, 
And broke the meditated lines of war. 
Detested Caii too, with artful wonder, 
Would shake his w ily head, and closely wlusper. 
Beware of Mqstapha, beware of treason. 



A TRAGEDY. 1S7 

Mustajiha. 
The faith of Mustapha disdains suspicion ; ^ 
But yet, great Emperor, l3eware of treason ; 
Th' insidious Bassa, iir'd by disappointment..... 

Mahomet. 
Shall feel the vengeance of an injur'd king. 
Go, seize him, load him with reproachful chains ; 
Before Ih' assembled troops proclaim his crimes ; 
Then leave him strctcliM upon the lingering rack, 
Amidst the camp to howl his life away. 

ATustafiha. 
Should we before the troops proclaim his crimes, 
I dread his arts of seeming innocence, 
His bland address, and sorcery of tongue ; 
And, should he fall unheard by sudden justice, 
Th' adoring soldiers would revenge their idol. 

Mahomet. 
Call, this day, with hypocritic zeal, 
ImplorM my leave to visit Mecca's temple ; 
Struck with the wonder of a statesman's goodness,. 
I rais'd his thoughts to more sublime devotion. 
Now let him go, pursu'd by silent wrath, 
Meet unexpected daggers in his way, 
And in some distant land obscurely die. 

Mustapha, 
There will his boundless wealth, the spoil of Asia, 
Heap'd by your father's ill plac'd bounties on him, 
Disperse rebellion through the eastern world ; 
Bribe to his cause, and list beneath his banners, 
Arabia's roving troops, the sons of swiftness, 
And arm the Persian heretic against thee ; 
17* 



1&8 IRENE r 

There shall he waste thy frontiers, check thy conquests, 
And, though at length subdu'd, elude thy vengeance* 

Mahomet. 

Elude my vengeance ! No My troops shall range 

Th' eternal snows that freeze beyond M?eotis, 
And Afiic's torrid sands, in search of Call. 
Should the fierce North upon his frozen wings 
Bear him almost above the wondering clouds, 
And seat him in the Pleiads' golden chariots, 
Thence shall my fury drag him down to tortures ; 
Wherever guilt can fly, revenge can follow. 

Mustapha, 
Wilt thou dismiss the savage from the toils, 
Only to hunt him round the ravag'd world ? 

Mahomet. 
Suspend his sentence.,.. Empire and Irene 
Claim my divided soul. This wretch, unworthy 
To mix with nobler cares, I'll throw aside 
For idle hours, and crush him at xv^y leisure. 

Mustafiha. 
Let not th' unbounded greatness of his mind 
Betray my king to negligence of danger. 
Perhaps the clouds of dark conspiracy 
Now roll full fraught with thunder o'er your head. 
Tv/ice since the morning rose I saw the Bassa, 
Like a fell adder swelling in a brake, 
Beneath the covert of this verdant arch 
In private conference ; beside him stood 
Two men unknown, the partners of his bosom ; 
I mark'd them well, and trj\c'd in either face 
The gloomy resolution, horrid greatness, 



A TRAGEDY. 199 

And stern composure of despairlnfj heroes ; 
And, to confirm my thoughts, at sight of me^ 
As blasted by my presence, they withdrew 
With all the speed of terror and of guilt. 

Mahomet, 
The strong emotions of my troubled soul 
Allow no pause for art or for contrivance ; 
x\nd dark perplexity distracts my counsels. 
Do thou resolve ; for see Irene comes I 
At her approach each ruder gust of thought 
Sinks like the sighing of a tempest spent, 
And gales of softer passion fan my bosom. 

[Cali enters voith Irene, and exit ivith Mustapha, 

SCENE VIL 

MAHOMET, IRENE. 

Mahomet. 
Wilt thou descend, fair daughter of perfection, 
To hear my vows, and give mankind a queen ? 
Ah ! cease, Irene, cease those flowing sorrows, 
That melt a heart impregnable till now, 
And turn thy thoughts henceforth to love and empire. 
How will the matchless beauties of Irene, 
Thus bright in tears, thus amiable in ruin, 
With all the graceful pride of greatness heightened, 
Amidst the blaze of jewels and of gold, 
Adorn a throne, and dignify dominion I 



20e IRENE ; 

Irene ^ 
Why all this glare of splendid eloquence, 
To paint the pageantries of guilty state ? 
Must I for these renounce the hope of Heav'riy 
Immortal crowns, and fullness of enjoyment ? 
Mahomet. 

Vain raptures all For your inferior natures, 

Formal to delight, and happy by delighting, 

Heav'n has reserv'd no future paradise, 

But bids you rove the paths of bliss, secure 

Of total death, and careless of hereafter ; 

While Heaven's high minister, whose awful volume 

Records each act, each thought of sovereign man, 

Surveys your plays with inattentive glance, 

And leaves the lovely trifler unregarded. 

Irene. 
Why then has Nature's vain munificence 
Profusely pour'd her bounties upon woman ? 
Whence then those charms thy tongue has deign'd to 

flatter, 
That are resistless, and enchanting blush. 
Unless the beauteous fabric was design'd 
A habitation for a fairer soul ? 

Mahomet, 
Too high, bright maid, thou rat'st exterior grace ; 
Not always do the fairest flow'rs diffuse 
The richest odours, nor the speckled shells 
Conceal the gem ; let female arrogance 
Observe the feather'd wand'rers of the sky ; 
With purple varied and bedropp'd with gold, 
They prune the wing, and spread the sjJossy plumes, 



A TRAGEDY. 201 

Ordain'd, like you, to flutter and to shine, 
And cheer the weary passenger with music. 

Irene. 
Mean as we are, this tyrant of the world 
Implores our smiles, and trembles at our feet. 
Whence flow the hopes and fears, despair and rapture, 
Whence all the bliss and agonies of love ? 

Mahomet, 
Why, when the balm of sleep descends on man, 
Do gay delusions, wand'iing o'er the brain, 
Sooth the delighted soul with empty bliss I 
To want give affluence ? and to slav'ry freedom ? 
Such are love's joys, the lenitives of life, 
A fancy M treasure and a waking dream. 

Irene. 
Then let me once, in honour of our sex, 
Assum^e the boastful arrogance of man. 
Th' attractive softness, and th* endearing smile, 
And pow'rful glance, 'tis granted are our own ; 
Nor has impartial Nature's frugal hand 
Exhausted all her nobler gifts on you. 
Do not we share the comprehensive thought, 
Th* enlivening wit, the penetrating reason I 
Beats notthe female breast with gen'rous passions, 
The thirst of empire, and the love of glory ? 

Mahomet, 
Illustrious maid, new wonders fix me thine, 
Thy soul completes the triumphs of thy face. 
I thought, forgive my Fair, the noblest aim, 
The strongest effort of a female soul, 
Was but to choose the graces of the day, 
To tune the tongue, to teach the eye to roll^ 



202 IRENE ; 

Dispose the colours of the flowing robe, 
And add new roses to the faded cheek. 
Will it not charm a mind like thine exalted^ 
To shine the goddess of applauding nations, 
To scatter happiness and plenty round thee, 
To bid the prostrate captive rise and live, 
To see new cities tow'r at thy command, 
And blasted kingdoms flourish at thy smile ? 

Irene, 
Charm'd with the thought of blessing human kind, 
Too calm I listen to the flatt'ring sounds. 
Mahomet, 

O seize the power to bless Irene*snod 

Shall break the fetters of the groaning Christian ; 
Greece, in her lovely patroness secure, 
Shall mourn no more her plundered palaces. 
Irene. 

Forbear O do not urge me to my ruin ! 

Mahomet. 
To state and pow'r I court thee, not to ruin ; 
Smile on my wishes, and command the globe. 
Security shall spread her shield before thee. 
And Love infold thee with his downy wings. 

If greatness please thee, mount th' imperial seat ; 

If pleasure charm thee, view this soft retreat ; 

Here ev'ry warbler of the sky shall sing ; 

Here ev'ry fragrance breathe of evVy spring ; 

To deck these bow'rs each region shall combine> 

And e'en our prophet's gardens envy thine ; 

Empire and love shall share the blissful day, 

And varied life steal unpcrceiv'd away. 

[Exeunt. 



A TRAGEDV. 203 

ACT IIL 

SCENE L 

CALI, ABDALLA. 

[Cali enters ivith a discontented air ; to him enters 
Abdali.a.] 

Cali. 
Is this the fierce conspirator, Abdalla ? 
Is this the restless diligence of treason ? 
Where hast thou linger'd while th* incumber'd hours 
Fly lab'ring with the fate of future nations, 
And hungry slaughter scents imperial blood ? 

4bdana. 
Important cares dctain'd me from your councils. 

Cali, 
Some petty passion ! Some domestic trifle 1 
Some va'n amusement of a vacant soul ! 
A weeping wife, perhaps, or dying friend, 
Hung on your neck, and hinder'd your departure. 
Is this a time for softness or for sorrow ? 
Unprofitable, peaceful, female virtues ! 
When eager vengeance shews a naked focj 
And kind ambition points the way to greatness* 

Abdalla. 
Must then ambition's votaries infringe 
The laws of kindness, break the bonds of nature^ 
And quit the names of brother, friend, and father f 



204 IRENE ; 

Call. 
This sov'reign passion, scornful of restraint, 
E'en from the bu*th affects supreme commandj 
Swells in the breast, and with resistless force 
O'erbears each gentler motion of the mind. 
As when a deluge overspreads the plains, 
The wand'ring rivulet, and silver lake, 
Mix undistinguish'd in the gen'ral roar. 

Abdalla, 
Vet can ambition in Abdalla's breast 
Claim but the second place ; there mighty Love 
Has fix'd his hopes, inquietudes, and fears, 
His glowing wishes, and his jealous pangs. 

CalL 
Love is indeed the privilege of youth ; 
Yet on a day like this, when expectation 
Pants for the dread event. ....But let us reason..... 

Abdalla. 
Hast thou grown old amidst the crowd of courts^ 
And turn'd th' instructive page of human life, 
To cant, at last, of reason to a lover ? 
Such ill tim*d gravity, such serious folly, 
Might well befit the solitary student, 
Th* unpractis'd dervise, or sequesterM faquir. 
Know*st thou not yet, when love invades the soulj 
That all her faculties receive his chains ? 
That Reason gives her sceptre to his hand, 
Or only struggles to be more enslav'd ? 
Aspasia, who can look upon thy beauties ? 
Who hear thee speak, and not abandon reason \ 
Jleason ! The hoary dotard's dull directress, 



A TRAGEDY. 20 : 

That loses all, because she hazard's nothmg 1 
Reason ! The tim'rous pilot, that, to shun 
The rocks of life, for ever flies the port ! 

Call. 
But why this sudden warmth ? 

Jbdallo, 

Because I love ; 
Because my slighted passion bums in vain I 
Why roars the lioness, distress'd by hunger ? 
Why foams the swelling wave when tempests rise : 
Why shakes the ground, when subterraneous fires 
*Fierce through the busting caverns rend their way ? 

Call. 
Not till this day thou saw'st this fatal fair ; 
Did ever passion make so swift a progress ? 
Once more reflect, suppress this infant folly. 

Abdalla. 
Gross fires, enkindletl by a mortal hand, 
Spread by degrees, and dread th' oppressing stream ; 
The subtler flames emitted from the sky. 
Flash out at once, with strength above resistance. 

Call. 
How did Aspasia welcome your address ? 
Did you proclaim this unexpected conquest ? 
Or pay with speaking eyes a lover's homage ? 

Abdalla, 
Confounded, aw'd, and lost in admiration, 
I gaz'd, I trembled ; but I could not speak ; 
When e'en as love was breaking oiFfrom wonder^ 
And tender accents quiver'd on my lips, 
VOL, I. 18 



306 IRENE ; 

She mark*d my sparkling eyes, and heaving breast, 
And smiling, conscious of her charms, withdrew. 

[Enter Demetrius and Leontius. 
Caii. 
Now be some moments master of thyself ; 
Nor let Demetrius know thee for a rival. 
Hence ! or be calm To disagree is ruin. 

SCENE II. 

CALI, DEMETRIUS, LEONTIUS, ABDALLA. 

De7tietrius, 
When will occasion smile upon our wishes, 
And give the tortures of suspense a period ? 
Still must we linger in uncertain hope ? 
Still languish in our chains, and dream of freedom, 
Like thirsty sailors gazihg on the clouds. 
Till burning death shoots through their wither'd limbs I 

. Call. 
Deliverance is at baud ; for Turkey's tyrant. 
Sunk in his pleasures, confident and gay, 
With all the hero's dull security, 
Trusts to my care his mistress and his life. 
And laughs and wantons in the jaws of death. 
J^eondus. 

So weak is man, wlien destin'd to destruction ! 

The watchful slumber, and the crafty trust. 

Call. 
At my command yon iron gates unfold ; 
At my command the sentinels retire ; 
With all the license of authority, 



A TRAGEDY. 207 

A little longer, and she's thine for ever. 
Through bowing slaves, I range the private rooms,. 
And of tomorrow's action fix the scene. 

Demetrius. 
Tomorrow's action 1 Can that hoary wisdom, 
Bome down with years, still doat upon tomorrow ? 
That fatal mistress of the young, the lazy, 
The coward, and the fool, condemn'd to lose 
An useless life in waiting for tomorrow, 
To gaze with longing eyes upon tomorrow, 
Till interposing death destroys the prospect 1 
Strange ! That this gen'ral fraud from day to day 
Should fill the world with wretches undetected. 
The soldier, lab'ring through a winter's march, 
Still sees tomorrow dress'd in robes of triumph j, 
Still to the lover's long expecting arms, 
Tomorrow brings the visionary biide. 
But thou, too old to bear another cheat, 
Learn, that the present hour alone is man's» 

Leontius, 
The present hour, with open arms invites ; 
Seize the kind fair, and press her to thy bosom. 

Demetrius, 
Who knows, ere this important morrow rise, 
But fear or mutiny may taint the Greeks ? 
Who knows, if Mahomet's awaking anger 
May spare the fatal bowstring till tomorrow ? 

Abdalla, 
Had our first Asian foes but known this ardour, 
We still had wander'd on Tartarian hills. 
Rouse, Cali ; shall the sons of conquer'd Greece 



-OS IPENE > 

Lead us to da«5^er, and abash their victors ? 
This night with all her conscious stars be witness? 
Who merits most, Demetrius or Abdalla. 
Demetrius. 

Who merits most 1 1 knew not we wxre rivals. 

Culi, 

Young man, forbear the heat of youth, no more 

Well. ....'lis decreed This night shall fix our fate. 

Soon as the veil of evening clouds the sky^ 

With cautious secrecy, Leontius, steer 

Th' appointed vessel to yon shaded bay, 

Torm'd by this garden jutting on the deep ; 

There, with your soldiers arm'd, and sails expand$(J, 

Await our coming, equally prepared 

For speedy flight, or obstinate defence. [Exit Leont. 

SCENE III, 

CALI, ABDALLA, DEMETRIUS. 

Demetrius. 
NiOw pause, great Bassa, from the thoughts of bloocl.. 
And kindly grant an ear to gentler sounds. 
If e'er thy )^uth has known the pangs of absence, 
Or feltth' impatience of obstructed love. 
Give me, before th' approaching hour of fate. 
Once to behold the charms of bright Aspasia, 
And draw new virtue from her heav'nly tongue. 

Cali. 
Eet prudence, ere the suit be farther urg'd, 
Impartial weigh tlie pleasure with the danger. 



A TRAGEDY. 



209 



Demetrius. 
Prudence and love conspire in this request^ 
Lest, unacquainted with our bold attempt, 
Surprise o'ervvhelm her, and retard our flight. 

Cali. 
What I can grant, you cannot ask in vain 

Demetrius. 
I go to wait thy calls ; this kind consent 
Completes the gift of freedom and of life. [Exit Dem 

SCENE IV. 

CALI, ABDALLA. 

Abdalla. 

And this is my reward to burn, to languish. 

To rave unheeded ; while the happy Greek, 
The refuse of our swords, the dross of conquest, 
Throws his fond arms about Aspasia's neck, 
Dwells on her lips, and sighs upon her breast. 
Is't not enough he lives by our indulgence, 
But he must live to make his masters wretched I 

Cali, 
What claim hast thou to plead f 
Abdalla. 

The claim of pow 'i', 
The unquestion'd claim of conquerors and kings ! 

Cali. 
Yet in the use of pow'r remember justice. 

Abdalla. 
Can then th' assassin lift his treach'rous hand 
18* 



-10 1RE^^:; 

Against his king, and cry, remember justice ? 
Justice demraids the forfeit life of Cali ; 
Justice demands that I reveal your crimes ; 

Justice demands but see th' approaching Sultan ! 

Oppose my wishes, and remember justice. 

Cali. 

Disorder sits upon thy face retire. 

\^Exit Abdalia, enter Mahomet* 

SCENE V. 

CALI, MAHOMET. 

Cali. 
Long be the Sultan bless*d with happy love I 
My zeal marks gladness dawning on thy cheeky 
With raptures such as fire the Pagan crowds, 
When, pale and anxious for their years to come, 
They see the sun surmount the dark eclipse,^ 
And hail unanimous their conquering god. 

Mahomet. 
My vows, 'tis true, she hears with less aversion j 
She sighs, she blushes, but she still denies. 

Cali. 
With warmicr courtship press the yielding fgiir. 
Call to your aid, with boundless promises, 
Each rebel wish, each traitor inclination, 
That raises tumults in the female breast, 
The love of pow'r, of pleasure, and of show. 

JMa hornet. 
These arts I try'd, and to inflame her more;. 
By hateful business hurried from her sighty 
Tbade a hundred yirgins wait wouiid her>. 



ATRAGEDV, 211 

Sooth her with all the pleasures of command, 
Applaud her charms, and court her to be great. 

[Exit Mahomet, 

SCENE VI. 

CAILJ, solus. 

He's gone Here rest, my soul, thy fainting witig. 

Here recollect thy dissipated pow'rs 

Our distant interests, and our diff 'rent passion&j . 
Now haste to mingle in one common centre, 
And fate lies crowded in a narrow space. 
Yet in that narrow space what dangers rise 1..^. 
Far more I dread Abdalla's fiery folly. 
Than all the wisdom of the grave divan. 
Reason with reason fights on equal terms ; 
The raging madman's unconnected schemes 
We cannot obviate, for we cannot guess. 
Deep in my breast be treasur'd this resolve, 
AVhen Cali mounts the throne, Abdalla dies, 
Too fierce, too faithless, for neglect or trust. 

\^J£nter Irene nvith Attendafit^. 

SCENE VII. 

CALI, IRENE, ASPASIA, 8cC. 

Cali, 
Amidst the splendour of encircling beauty, 
Superior majesty proclaims thee queen. 
And nature justifies our monarch's choice.- 



212 IRENE; 

Irene. 
Rerserve this homage for some other fair ; 
Urge me not on to glitt*ring guilt, nor pour 
In my weak ear th' intoxicating sounds. 

Call. 
Make haste, bright maid, to rule the willing world c. 
Aw'd by the rigor of the Sultan's justice, 
We court thy gentleness. 

Aspasia. 

Can Cali's voice 
Concur to press a hapless captive's ruin ? 

Call. 
Long would my zeal for Mahomet and thee 
Detain me here. But nations call upon me? 
And duty bids me choose a distant walk, 
Nor taint with care the privacies of love. 

SCENE VIII. 

IRENE, ASPASiA, Jttendants. 

Aspada. 
If yet this shining pomp, these sudden honours, 
Swell not thy soul beyond advice or friendship, 
Nor yet inspire the follies of a queen, 
Or tune thine ear to soothing adulation, 
Suspend awhile the privilege of pow'r 
To hear the voice of Truth ; dismiss thy train, 
Shake off th' incumbrances of state a moment. 
And lay the tow 'ring sultaness aside, 

[Irene aigns to her attendants to retire. 
While I foretell thy fate j that ofhce done ' 



A TRAGEDY. 213 

No more I boast th* ambitious name of friend, 
But sink among thy slaves without a murmur. 

Irene. 
Did regal diadems invest my brow, 
Yet should my soul, still faithful to her choic'e. 
Esteem Aspasia's breast the noblest kingdom. 

jisfiasia. 
The soul, once tainted with so foul a crime, 
No more shall glow with friendship's hallowM ardouv ^ 
Those holy Beings, whose superior care 
Guides erring mortals to the paths of virtue, 
Affrighted at impiety like thine, 
Resign their charge to baseness and to riiin. 

Irene. 
Upbraid me not with fancied wickedness ; 
I am not yet a queen, or an apostate. 
But should I sin beyond the hope of mercy, 
If, when religion prompts me to refuse, 
The dread of instant death restrains my tongue t 

Asfiasia, 
Reflect that life, and death, affecting sounds I 
Are only varied modes of endless being ; 
Reflect that life, like ev'ry other blessing, 
Derives its value from its use alone ; 
Not for itself, but for a nobler end, 
Th' Eternal gave it, and that end is virtue* 
When inconsistent -svith a greater good. 
Reason commands to cast the less away ; 
Thus life, with loss of wealth, is vveil preserv'd* 
And virtue cheaply sav'd with loss of life. 



2 14 IRENE ; 

Irene, 
If, built on settled thought, this constancy 
Not idly flutters on a boastful tongue, 
Why, when destruction rag'd around our walls, 
Why fled this haughty heroine from the battle ? 
Why then did not this warlike Amazon 
Mix m the war, and shine among the heroes ? 

Asjiasia. 
Heav'n, when its hand pour'd softness on our limbs, 
Unfit for toil, and polish'd into weakness, 
Made passive fortitude the praise of woman ; 
Our only arms are innocence and meekness. 
Not then with raving cries I fiU'd the city ; 
But, while Demetrius, dear lamented name I 
Pour'd storms of fire upon our fierce invadei*s, 
Implor'd th' Eternal Pow'r to shield my country, 
With silent sorrows, and with calm devotion. 

Irene. 
O I did Irene shine the queen of Turkey, 
No more should Greece lament those pray'rs rejected'. 
Again should golden splendour grace her cities, 
Again her prostrate palaces should rise, 
Again her temples sound with holy music ; 
No more should danger fright, or want distress 
The smiling widows, and protected orphans. 

Astasia, 
Be virtuous ends pursu'd by virtuous means, 
Nor think th' intention sanctifies the deed ; 
That maxim, publish'd in an impious age, 
Would loose the wild enthusiast to destroy.. 
And fix the fierce usurper's bloody title \ 



A TRAGEDY. 215 

Then Bigotry might send her slaves to war, 
And bid success become the test of truth ; 
Unpitying massacre might waste the world, 
And persecution boast the call of Heaven. 

Irene. 
Shall i not wish to cheer afflicted kings, 
And plan the happiness of mourning millions ? 

Aspasia. 
Dream notofpow'rthou never canst attain ; 
When social laws first harmoniz'd the world, 
Superior man possessed the charge of rule, 
The scale of justice, and the sword of pow'r, 
Nor left us aught but flattery and state. 

Irene, 
To me my lover's fondness will restore 
Whate'er man's pride has ravish'd from our sex. 

Afifiasia. 
When soft security shall prompt the Sultan, 
Freed from the tumults of unsettled conquest. 
To fix his court, and regulate his pleasures, 
Soon shall the dire seraglio's horrid gates 
Close like th' eternal bars of death upon thee. 
Immui'd, and buried in perpetual sloth. 
That gloomy slumber of the stagnant soul. 
There shalt thou view from far the quiet cottage, 
And sigh for cheerful poverty in vain ; 
There wear the tedious hours of life away, 
Beneath each curse of unrelenting Heav'n, 
Despair and slav'ry, solitude and guilt. 



216 IRENE; 

Irene. 
There shall we find the yet untasted Wiss 
Of grandeur and tranquillity combin'd. 

Asjiaaia, 
Tranquillity and guilt, disjoin'd by Heav'n.. 
Still stretch in vain their longing arms afar \ 
Nor dare to pass th' insuperable bound. 
All 1 let me rather seek the convent's cell ; 
There when my thoughts, at intervals of pray'r, 
Descend to range these mansions of misfortune? 
Oft' shall I 4we]l on our disastrous friendship, 
And shed the pitying tear for lost Irene . 

Irene. 
Go, languish on in dull obscurity ; 
Thy dazzled soul, with all its boasted greatness', 
•Shrinks at th' o'erpow'ring gleams of regal state, 
Stoops from the blaze like a degenerate eagle, 
And flies for shelter to the shades of life. 

Asfmaia, 
On me should Providence, without a crime,. 
The weighty charge of royalty confer ; 
Call me to civilize the Russian wilds, 
Or bid soft science polish Britain's heroes ; 
Soon should'st thou see, how false thy v/eak reproach. 
My bosom feels, enkindled from the sky, 
The lambent flames of mild benevolence. 
Untouched by fierce ambition's raging fires. 

Irene. 
Ambition is the stamp, impressed by Heav'n 
To mark the noblest minds ; with active heat 
Inform'd, they mount the precipice of pow'r. 



A TRAGElar. -i^ 

'Orasp at command, and tow'r in quest of empire ; 
While vulgar souls compassionate their cares, 
Gaze at their height, and tremble at their danger; 
Thus meaner spirits with amazement mark 
The varying seasons, and revolving skies, 
\nd ask, what guilty Pow'r's rebellious hand 
Rolls with eternal toil the pond'rous orbs ; 
While some archangel, nearer to perfection, 
In easy state presides o'er all their motions. 
Directs the planets with a careless nod. 
Conducts the sun, and regulates the spheres. ^ 

Aspasidt 
Well may'st thou hide in labyrinths of sound 
The cause that shrinks from reason's pow'rful voice. 
Stoop from thy flight, trace back th' entangled thought, 
And set the glitt'ring fallacy to viev/. 
Not pow'r I blame, but pow'r obtained by crime ; 
Angelic greatness is angelic virtue. 
Amidst the glare of courts, and shout of armies, 
Will not th* apostate feel the pangs of guilt. 
And wish, too late, for innocence and peaccj 
Curst as the tyrant of th* infernal re.ilms, 
With gloomy state and agonizing pomp t 

SCENE IX. 

IRENBi, ASPASIA, MAID. 

Maid. 



A Turkish stranger, of majestic mien, 
Asks at the gate admission to Aspasia, 
Commission'd, as he says, by Call Bassa. 
VOL. 19 



218 IRENE; 

Irene, 
Whoe'er thou art, or whatsoe'er thy message, [Aside. 
Thanks for this kmd relief..... With speed admit him. 

Asjiasia. 
He comes, perhaps, to separate us for ever ; 
When I am gone, reiiiember, O I remember, 
Thit none ^re great, or happy, but the virtuous. 

[Exit Irene ; enter Demetrius. 

SCENE X. 

ASPASIA, DEMETRIUfJ. 

Demetrius. 
^Tis she. ....my hope, my happiness, my love I 
Aspasia 1 Do I once again behold thee ? 

Still, still the same unclouded by misfortune ! 

Let my blest eyes for ever gaze 

Aspasia, 

Demetrius I 

Deinetrius. 
Why does the blood forsake thy lovely cheek r 
Why shoots this chillness through thy shaking nerves : 
Why does thy soul retire into herself l 
Recline upon my breast tliy sinking beauties ; 

Revive Revive to freedom and to love. 

Aspasia. 
What well known voice pronounc'd the grateful sounds. 
Freedom and love ? Alas ! I'm all confusion, 
A sudden mist o'ercasts my darken'd soul ; 



A TRAGEDY. 21^ 

The present, past, and future, swim before me, 

Lost in a wild perplexity of joy. 

Demetrius, 

Such ecstacy of love, such pure affection, 

What worth can merit ? or what faith reward ? 

Asfiasia. 
A thousand thoughts, imperfect and distracted, 

Demand a voice, and struggle into birth ; 

A thousand questions press upon my tongue, 

But all give way to rapture and Demetrius* 

Demetrius. 
O say, bright Being, in this age of absence. 
What fears, what griefs, what dangers, hast thou known } 
Say, how the tyrant threaten*d, flatterM, sigh'd ! 
Say, how he threatened, flatterM, sighM in vain ! 
Say, how the hand of Violence was raisM I 
Say, how thou callMst in tears upon Demetrius I 

Asfiasia. 
Inform me rather how thy happy courage 
Stemm'din the breach the deluge of destruction. 
And pass'd uninjur'd through the walks of death. 
Did savage anger and licentious conquest 
Behold the hero with Aspasia's eyes ? 
And, thus protected in the gen'ral ruin, 
O say, what guardian pow'r convey'd thee hither* 

Deinetriiis. 
Such strange events, such unexpected chances, 
Beyond my warmest hope, or wildest wishes, 
Concurr'd to give me to Aspasia's arms, 
I: stand amaz*d, and ask, if yet I clasp thee. 



220 lEEKE^ 

Sure Heav'n, for wonders are not wrought in vaii>^ 
That joins ns thus, will never part us more. 

SCENE XI. 

DE3HETRIUS, ASPASIA, ABDAHA. 

Mdalla. 

It parts you now the hasty Sultan sign'tl 

The laws unread, and flies to his Irene. 

De7netrius. 
Fix'd and intent on his Irene's charms, 
He envies none the converse of Aspasi^. 

Abdalla, 
Aspasia's absence will inflame suspicion ; 
She cannot, must not, shall not, linger here ; 
Prudence and Friendship bid me force her from you. 

Devietrius. 
Force her ! profane her with a touch, and die I 

Abdalia. 
"Tis Greece, *tis Freedom, calls Aspasia hence ; 
Your careless love betrays your country's cause. 

Demetrius. 

If we must pavt 

AHJiada. 

No I Let us die together. 

Demetrius. 

If we must part 

Abdalia. 

Despatch ; th' increasing danger 



A' TRAGEDY, 32; 

Will not admit a lover's long farewell, 

The long drawn intercourse of sighs and kisses. 
Demetrius. 

Then O my Fair, I cannot bid thee go ; 

Receive her, and protect her, gracious Heav'n ! 

Yet let me watch her dear departing steps, 

If Fate pursues me, let it find me here. 

Reproach not, Greece, a lover's fond delays. 
Nor think thy cause neglected while I gaze ; 
New force, new courage, from each glance I gain, 
.\nd find our passions not infus'd in vain. 

\ Exeunt- 



ACT IV 

SCENE I. 

Demetrius, Aspasia, enter as talking, 

Asfiasia, 

Enough resistless Reason calms my soul 

Approving Justice smiles upon. your cause, 
And nature's rights entreat th' asserting sword. 
Yet, when your hand is lifted to destroy. 
Think, but excuse a woman's needless caution..... 
Purge well thy mind from ev'ry private passion, 
Drive int'rest, love, and vengeance, from thy thoughts^ 
Fill all thy ardent breast with Greece and ^'^irtue, 
Then strike secure, and Heav'n assist the blow I 
19* 



222 mE>.ir: 

Demetrius. 
Thou kiixl assistant of my better angelj 
Propitious guide of my bewilder'd soul, 
Calm of my cares^ and guardian of my virtue !- 

jisfiasia. 
My soul, first kindled by thy bright example 
To noble thought and generous emulation, 
Now hut reflects those beams that fiow'd from thee. 

Demetrius. 
With native lustre and unborrow'd greatness, 
Thou sLin'st, bright maid, superior to distress : 
Unlike the trifling race of vulgar beauties, 
Those glitt'ring dew drops of a vernal morn, 
That spread their colours to the genial beam. 
And sparkling quiver to the breath of May ; 
Ikit, when the tempest with sonorous wing 
Sweeps o'er the grove, forsake the laboring bough > 
Dispers'd in air, or mingled with the dust. 
Asfiasia. 

Forbear this triumph still new conflicts wait us- 

Foes luiforeseen, and dangers unsuspected. 
Oft when the fierce besiegers' eager host 
Beholds the fainting garrison retire, 
f\nd rushes joyful to the naked wall, 
i3estruction flashes from th* insidious mine, 
And sweeps th' exulting conqueror away. 
Perhaps in vul.i die Sultan's anger spar'd me, 
X To find a meaner fate from treach^'ous friendship^.. 

Abd^lla ! 

Demetiius. 

Can Abdalla then dissemble ? 



A TRAGEDY. S2i 

That fiery chief, renown'd for gen'rous freedom^ 
For zeal unguarded, undissembled hate. 
For daring truth, and turbulence of honour ! 

Aspasia. 
This open friend^ this undesigning hero, 
With noisy falsehoods forc*d me from your arms,- 
To shock my virtue with a tale of love. 

Deinetrius. 
Did not the cause of Greece restrain my sword,- 
Aspasia should not fear a second insult. 

Aspasia. 
His pride and love by turns inspir'd his tongue, 
And intermix'd my praises with his own ; 
His wealth, his rank, his honours, he recounted, 
Till, in the midst of arrogance and fondness, 
Th' approaching Sultan forc'd me from the palace ; 
Then, while he gaz'd upon his yielding mistress, 
I stole unheeded from their ravish'd eyes. 
And sought this happy grove in quest of thee, ^ 

Demetrius. 
Soon may the final stroke decide our fate, 
Lest baleful discord cioish our infant scheme, 
And strangled freedom perish in the birth ! 

Asfiasia. 
My bosom, harassed with alternate passions. 
Now hopes, now fears 

Demetrius. 

Th' anxieties of love. 
Asfiasia. 
Think how the Sovereign Arbiter of kingdoms 
Detests thy false associates* black designs. 



224 IRENE , 

And frowns on perjury, revenge, and murder, 
Embark'd with treason on the seas of fate, 
When Heav'n shall bid the swelling billows rage,^ 
And point vindictive lightnings at rebellion, 
Will not the patriot share the traitor's danger ? 
Gh could thy hand unaided free thy country. 
Nor mingled guilt pollute the sacred cause 1 . 

Demetrius, 
Permitted oft, though not inspir'd by Heav'n, 
Successful treasons punish impious kings. 

Asfiada. 
Nor end my terrors with the Sultan's death ; 
Far as futurity's untravell'd waste 
Lies open to conjecture's dubious ken, 
On ev'ry side confusion, rage, and death, 
Perhaps the phantoms of a w^oman's fear. 
Beset the treach'rous way with fatal ambush ; 
Each Turkish bosom bums for thy destinjction, - 
Ambitious Cali dreads the statesman's arts, 
And hot Abdalla hates the happy lover. 

Demetrius. 
Capricious man ! to good and ill inconstant. 
Too much to fear or trust is equal weakness. 
Sometimes the wretch, unaw'd by Heav'n or Hell, 
With mad devotion idolizes honour. 
The Bassa, reeking with his master's murder, 
Perhaps may start at violated friendship. 

Asfiasia. 
How soon, alas ! will int'rest, fear, or envy, 
O'erthrow such weak, huch accidental, virtue, 
Nor built on faith, nor fortified by conscience ? 



A TRAGEDY. 225 

Demetrius. 
When despVate ills demand a speedy cure^ 
Distrust is cowardice, and prudence folly. 

Asfiasia^ 
Yet think a moment, ere you court destruction, 
What hand, when death has snatchM away Demetriusj 
Shall guard Aspasia from triumphant lust. 
Demetrius, 

Dismiss these needless fears a troop of Greeka, 

Well known, long try*d, expect us on the shore. 
Borne on the surface of the smiling deep, 
Soon shalt thou scorn, in safety's arms repos'dj 
Abdalla's rage and Call's stratagems. 

Aspada. 
Still, still, distrust sits heavy on my heart j 
Will e'er an happier hour revisit Greece ? 

Demetrius. 
Should Heav'n, yet unappeas'd, refuse its aid. 
Disperse our hopes, and frustrate our designs, 
Yet shall the conscience of the great attempt 
Diffuse a brightness o'er our future days ; 
Nor will his country's groans reproach Demetrius. 
But how canst thou support the woes of exile ? 
Canst thou forget hereditary splendours, 
To live obscure upon a foreign coast. 
Content with science, innocence, and love r 

Asjmsia. 
Nor wealth, nor titles, make Aspasia's bliss, 
O'erwhelm'd and lost amidst the public ruins, 
Unmov'd I saw the glitt'ring trifles perish^ 
And thought the petty dross beneath a sigh.. 



226 IRENE ; 

Cheerful I follow to the rural cell ; 

Love be my wealth, and my distinction virtue. 

Demetrius. 
Submissive, and prepar'd for each event, 
Now let us wait the last award of Heav'n, 
Secure of happiness from flight or conquest, 
Nor fear the fair and learn'd can want protection. 
The mighty Tuscan courts the banish'd arts 
To kind Italia's hospitable shades ; 
There shall soft leisure wing th' excursive soulj 
And Peace propitious smile on fond desire j 
There shall despotic Eloquence resume 
Her ancient empire o'er the yielding heart ; 
There Poetry shall tune her sacred voice, 
And wake from ignorance the western world. 

SCENE II. 

DEMETRIUS, ASPASIA, CALI, 

Call. 
At length the unwilling sun resigns the world 
To silence and to rest. The hours of darkness, 
Propitious hours to stratagem and death, 
Pursue the last remains of lingering light. 

Demetrius. 
Count not tliese hours as part of vulgar time, 
Think them a sacred treasure lent by Heav'n, 
Which, squandered by neglect, or fear, or folly, 
No prayer recalls, no diligence redeems. 
Tomorrow's dawn shall see the Turkish king 



A TRAGEDY. 227 

StretchM in the dust, or tow'ring on his throne ; 
Tomorrow's dawn shall see the mighty Cali 
'The sport of tyranny, or lord of nations. 

Cali, 
Then waste no longer these important moments 
In soft endearments, and in gentle murmurs ; 
Nor lose in love the patriot and the hero. 

Demetrius. 
^Tis love, combined with guilt alone, that melts 
The soften'd soul to cowardice and sloth ; 
But virtuous passion prompts the great resolve, 
And fans the slunib'ring spark of heav'niy fire. 
Retire, my fair ; that Pow'r that smiles on goodness 
Guide all thy steps, calm ev'ry stormy thought, 
And still thy bosom with the voice of peace 1 

Asfiada. 
Soon may we meet again, secure and free, 
To feel no more the pangs of separation ! \Exit. 

DEMETRIUS, CALI. 

Demetrius, 

This night alone is ours Our mighty foe. 

No longer lost in am'rous solitude. 

Will now remount the slighted seat of empire, 

And shew Irene to the shouiing people ; 

Aspasia left her sighing in liis arms. 

And list'ning to the pleasing tale of powV ; 

With soften'd voice she dropp'd the faint refusal. 

Smiling consent she sat, and blushing love. 

Cali. 
Now, tyrant, with satiety of beauty 



,22^ ^^^^B^ IRENE ; 

Now feast thine e,y^esj thine eye^ that ne'er hcreaftei 
Shall dart their am*roiis glances at the fair, 
Or glare on Cali with malignant beams. 

SCENE III. 

DEMETRIUS, CALI, LEONTIUS, ABDALLA. 

Leontius, 
Our bark unseen has reach'd th' appointed bay, 
And where yon trees wave o'er the foaming surge, 
declines against the shore ; our Grecian troop 
Extends its lines along the sandy beach, 
£,late with hope, and panting for a foe. 

Abdalla. 
The fav'ring winds assist the great design, 
Sport in our sails, and murmur o'er the deep. 
Cali, 

'Tis well A single blow completes our wishes ; 

Return with speed, Leontius, to your charge ; 
The Greeks, disorder'd by their leader's absence, 
May droop dismay*d, or kindle mto madness. 

^Leontius. 

Suspected still ! Whd!t villain*s pois'nous tongue 

Dare join Leontius' name with fear or falsehood I 
Have I for this preserv'd my guiltless bosom, 
Pure as the thoughts of infant innocence ? 
Have I for this defy'd the chiefs of Turkey, 
Intrepid in the flaming front of war ? 

Cali. 
Hast thou not search'd my soul*s profoundest thoughts ? 
Is not the fate of Greece and CaJi tliine ? 



A TRAGEDY. 229 

Leontius* 
Why has thy choice then pointed out Leontius> 
Unfit to share this night's ilhistrious toils ? 
To wait remote from action and from honour, 
An idle list'ner to the distant cries 
Of slaughtered infidels, and clash of swords ? 
Tell me the cause, that while thy name, Demetrius. 
Shall soar triumphant on the wings of Glory, 
DespisM and curs'd, Leontius must descend 
Through hissing ages, a proverbial coward, 
The tale of women, and the scorn of fools ? 

Demetrius, 
Can brave Leontius be the slave of Glorj^ I 
Glory, the casual gift of thoughtless crowds 1 
Glory, the bribe of avaricious virtue 1 
Be but my country free, be tliine the praise ; 
I ask no witness, but attesting conscience? 
No records, but the records of the sky. 

Leontius, 
Wilt thou then head the troop upon the shore. 
While I destroy th' oppressor of mankmd ? 

Demetrius. 
What canst thou boast superior to Demetrius ? 
Ask to whose sword the Greeks will trust their causc,^ 
My name shall echo through the shouting field ; 
Demand whose force yon Turkish heroes dread, 
The shudd'ring camp shall murmur out Demetrius* 

Cati, 
Must Greece, still wretched by her children's folly^ 
For ever mourn their avaiice or fagtio»s I 
VOL. I. 20 



-^0 iREXti ; 

Demeti'ius justly pleads a double title ; 
The lover's interest aids the patriot's claim, 

Leontius. 
My pride shall ne'er protract my country's woes 
Succeed, my friend, unenvied by Leontius. 

Demetrius. 
I feel new spirit shoot along my nerves, 
My soul expands to meet approaching freedom. 
Now hover o'er us with propitious wings, 
Ye sacred shades of patriots and of martyrs ! 
All ye, whose blood tyrannic rage effused, 
Or persecution drank, attend our call ; 
And from the mansions of perpetual peace 
Descend, to sweeten labours once your own ! 

Call. 
Go then, and with united eloquence 
Confirm your troops ; and when the moon's fair beam 
Plays on the quiv'ring waves, to guide our flight, 
Return, Demetrius, and be free for ever. 

[^Exeunt De^i. and Leon- 

SCENE IV. 

CALI, ABDALLA. 

Abdalla. 
How the new monarch, swell'd with aiiy rule, 
Looks down, contemptuous, from his fancy'd height^ 
And utters fate, unmindful of Abdalla ! 

Call, 
Far be such black ingratitude from Call I 




A TRAGEDY. 231 

When Asia's nations own me for their lord. 
Wealth, and command, and grandeur, shall be thin^. 

Abdalla. 
Is this the recompense reserv'd for me ? 
Dar'st thou thus dally with Abdalla*s passion ? 
Henceforward hope no more my slighted friendships 
Wake from thy dream of pow'r to death and tortures. 
And bid thy visionary throne farewell. 

Cali[ 

Name, and enjoy thy wish 

Abdalla. 

I need not name it ; 
Aspasia's lovers know but one desire. 
Nor hope, nor wish, nor live, but for Aspa^ia. 

Call. 
That fatal beauty, plighted to Demetriuis, 
Heav'n makes not mine to give. 
Abdalla. 

Nor to deny. 

Call. 
Obtain her, and possess ; thou know'st thy rival. 

Abdalla, 
Too well I know him, since on Thracia's plains, 
I felt the force of his tempestuous arm, 
And saw .my scatter'd squadrons fly before him. 
Nor will I trust th' uncertain chance of combat ; 
The rights of princes let the sword decide, 
The petty claims of empire and of honour ; 
Revenge and subtle jealousy shall teach 
A surer passage to his hated heart. 






^32 IREI^E, 

Cali, 
O spare the gallant Greek, in him wc lose 
The politician's arts, and hero's flame. 

Abdalla. 
When next we meet, before we storm the palace> 
The bowl shall circle to confirm our league ; 
Then shall these juices taint Demetrius' draught, 

[^Shewing a fihi&i. 
And stream destructive through his freezing veins ; 
Thus shall he live to strike th' important blow, 
And perish ere he taste the joys of conquest. 

SCENE V. 

MAHOMET) MUSTAPHA, CALI, ABUALL.A. 

Mahomet. 
Henceforth for ever happy be this day, 
Sacred to love, to pleasure, and Irene i 
The matchless fair has bless'd me with compliance ; 
Letev'ry tongue resound Irene's praise, 
And spread the general transport through mankind . 

Cali. 
Blest prince, for whom indulgent Heaven ordains 
At once the joys of paradise and empire, 
Now join thy people's and thy Cali's prayers ; 
Suspend thy passage to the seats of bliss, 
Nor wish for Houries in Irene's arms. 

Mahomet, 
Forbear.....! know the long try'd faith of C.ah\ 



A TRAGEDY. 

Call. 

! could the eyes of kings, like those of Heav'n,. 
Search to the dark recesses of the soul, 

Oft would they find ingratitude and treason, 
By smiles, and oaths, and praises, ill disguis'd. 
How rarely would they meet, in crowded courtSji 
Fidelity so firm, so pure, as mine. 

Mustafiha, 
Yet, ere we give our loosen'd thoughts to rapture^ 
Let prudence obviate an impending danger ; 
Tainted by sloth, the parent of sedition, 
The hungry Janizary burns for plunder, 
And growls in private o'er his idle sabre. 

Makomet, 
To still their murmurs, ere the twentieth sun 
Shall shed his beams upon the bridal bed, 

1 rouze to war, and conquer for Irene. 

Then shall the Rhodian mourn his sinking tow'rs; 
And Buda fall, and proud Vienna tremble ; 
Then shall Venetia feel the Turkish pow'r, 
And subject seas roar round their queen in vain, 

Ahdalla. 
Then seize fair Italy's delightful coast, 
To fix your standard in imperial Rome. 

Mahomet. 
Her sons malicious clemency shall spare, 
To form new legends, sanctify new crimeSj 
To canonize the slaves of superstition. 
And fill the world with follies and impostures. 
Till angry Heav'n shall mark them out for ruin, 
And war o'erwhelm them b their dream of viGe, 
30* 



23-^, 



■^^ IRENE i 

O, could her sabled saiiits, and boasted prayers> 

Call forth her ancient heroes to the field, 

How should I joy, 'midst the fierce shock of nations, 

To cross the tow^rings of an equal soul, 

And bid the master genius rule the world I 

Abdalla, Cali, go proclaim my purpose. 

\^£xeuni Cali and Abdalla. 

SCENE VI. 

MAHOMET, MUSTAPHA. 

Mahomet. 
Still Cali lives ; and must he live tomorrow f 
That fawning villain's forc'd congratulations 
Will cloud my triumphs, and pollute the day^ 

Mustajiha, 
With cautious vigilance, at my command, 
Two faithful captains, Hasan and Caraza, 
Pursue him through his labyrinths of treason, 
And wait your summons to report his conduct. 

Mahomet. 

Call them but let them not prolong their tale, 

"Nor press too much upon a lover's patience. 

[Exit Mustapha. 

SCENE VII. 



Whome*er the hope, still blasted, still renewed. 
Of happiness lures on from toil to toil, 



A TRAGEDY, 23 i 

Remember Mahomet, and cease thy labour. 
Behold him here, m love, in v/ar, successful, 
Behold hmi wretched m his double triumph 1 
His fav'rite faithless, and his mistress base. 
Ambition only gave her to my arms, 
By reason not convinc'd, nor won by love. 
Ambition was her crime ; but meaner folly 
Dooms me to loath at once, and doat on falsehood. 
And idolize th' apostate I contemn. 
If thou art more than the gay dream of fancy, 
More than a pleasing sound without a meaning,. 
O happness I sure thou art all Aspasia's, 

SCENE VIII. 

MAHOMET, MUSTAPHA, HASAI.', CARAZA. 

Mahomet. 

Caraza, speak have ye remarked the Bassa ? 

Caraza. 
Close, as we might unseen, we watch*d his steps ; 
His hair disorder'd, and his gait unequal, 
Betray'd the wild emotions of his mind. 
Sudden he stops, and inward turns his eyes, 
Absorbed in thought ; then, starting from his tranCe, 
Constrains a sullen smile, and shoots away. 

With him Abdalla we beheld 

Mustapha. 

Abdalla 1 

Mahomet, 
He wears of late resentment on his brow, 
Deny'd the goverament of Servia's province. 



236 IRENE , 

Caraza. 
We mark'd him storming in-excess of fuiy, 
And heard, within the thicket that concealed us. 
An midistinguish'd sound of threat'ning rage. 

Mustajiha. 
How guilt, once harbour'd in the conscious breast. 
Intimidates the brave, degrades the great ; 
See Caii, dread of kings, and pride of armies. 
By treason leveird with the dregs of men ! 
Ere guilty fear depress'd the hoary chief, 
An angry murmur, a rebellious frown, 
Had stretch'd the fiery boaster in the grave. 

Mahomet. 
Shall monarchs fear to draw the sword of justice, 
Aw'd by the crowd, and by their slaves restrained ? 
Seize him this night, and through the private passage 
Convey him to the prison's inmost depths, 
Reserv'd to all the pangs of tedious death. 

\Exeunt Mahomet and Mustapha. 

SCENE IX. 

HASAN, CARAZA, 

Hamn . 
Shall then the Greeks, unpunish'd and conceal'd, 
Contrive perhaps the ruin of our empire, 
League with our chiefs, and propagate sedition ? 

Caraza. 
Whate'er their scheme, the Bussa's death defeats it,- 
And gratitude's strong ties restrain my tongue. 



A TRAGEDY. 237 

Hasan, 
^\^hat ties to slaves ? What gratitude to foes I 

Caraza. 
In that black day when slaughtcr'd thousands fell 
Around these fatal walls, the tide of war 
Bore me victorious onward, where Demetrius 
Tore unresisted from the giant hand 
Of stern Sebalias the triumphant cresceut, 
And dash'd the might of Asam from the ramparts. 
There I became, nor blush to make it known, 
The captive of his sword. The coward Greeks, 
Enrag*d by wrongs, exulting Avith success, 
Doom'd me to die with all the Turkish captains ; 
But brave Demetrius scornM the mean revenge, 
And gave me life 

Hasan. 
Do thou repay the gift, 
Lest unrewarded mercy lose its charms. 
Profuse of wealth, or bounteous of success, 
When Heav'n bestows the privilege to bless ; 
Let no vv eak doubt the gen'rous hand restrain. 
For when was pow'r beneficent in vain ? 



ACT V. 

SCENE I. 

ASPASIA, solus. 

In these dark moments of suspended fate, 
While yet the future fortune of my country 



258 IRENE ; 

Lies in the womb of Providence conceard, 
And anxious angels wait the mighty liirth ; 
O grant thy sacred influence, pow'rful Virtue ' 
Attentive rise, survey the fair creation, 
Till, conscious of th' encircling deity. 
Beyond the mists of care thy pinion tow'rs. 
This calm, these joys, dear Innocence ! are thine ; 
Joys ill exchang'd for gold, and pride, and empire. 

[_jBnter Irene and AttendaMF"- 

SCENE II. 

ASP ASIA, IRENE, and Mte^idants. 

Irene. 
See how the moon through all th* unclouded sky 
Spreads her mild radiance, and descendin g dews 
Revive the languid flow'rs ; thus nature shone 
New from the Maker's hand, and fair array'd 
In the bright colours of primeval spring ; 
When purity, while fraud was yet unknown, 
Play'd fearless in th' inviolated shades. 
This elemental joy, this gen'ral calm. 
Is sure the smile of unoffended Heav'n, 

Yet ! why 

Maid. 
Behold, within th* embowering grove 

Aspasia stands 

Irene. 
With melancholy mien, 
Pensive, and envious of Irene's greatness^ 



A TRAGEDY. 259 

Steal unperceivVl upon lier meditations 

But see, the lofty maid, at our approach, 
Resumes th' imperious air of haughty Virtue. 
Are these th' unceasing- joys, th' unmingled pleasures 

fTo Aspasia. 
For which Aspasia sconvd the Turkish crown ? 
Is this th' unshaken confidence in Heav'n ? 
Is this the boasted bliss of conscious Virtue ? 
When did content sigh out her cares in secret ? 
When did Felicity repine in deserts ? 

^s/iasza. 
Ill suits with guilt the gaities of triumph ; 
When daring Vice insults eternal Justice, 
The ministers of wrath forget compassion, 
And snatch the flaming bolt with hasty hand. 

Forbear thy threats, proud Prophetess of ill, 
Vers'd in the secret counsels of the sky. 
Asjiasia. 

Forbear I But thou art sunk beneath reproach ; 

In vain affected raptures flush the cheek, 
And songs of pleasure warble from the tongue, 
When fear and anguish labour in the breast, 
And all within is darkness and confusion. 
Thus on deceitful Etna's flow'ry side 
Unfading verdure glads the roving eye ; 
While secret flames, with unextinguished rage, 
Insatiate on her wasted entrails prey, 
And melt her treach'rous beauties into ruin. 

{Enter Demetrius, 



S40 IRENE ; 

SCENE III. 

ASPASIAj IRENE, DEMETRIUB. 

Demetrius. 
riy, fly, my Love ! destruction rushes on us, ■■ 
The rack expects us, and the sword pursues. 

Asfiasia, 
Is Greece deliver'd ? is the tyrant fall'n ? 

Demetrius. 
Greece is no more ; the prosperous tyrant lives, 
Reserved for other lands, the scourge of Heav*n. 

Asliasia. 
Say, by what fraud, wliat force, were you defeated? 
Betray'd by falsehood, or by crowds o'erborne ? 

Demetrius, 
The pressing exigence forbids relation. 

Abdalla 

Aspasia. 
Hated name I his jealous rage 

Broke out in perfidy Oh curs'd Aspasia, 

Bom to complete the ruin of her countiy 1 
Hide me, oh hide me from upbraiding Greece ; 
Oh, hide me from myself I 

Demetrius. 

Be fruitless grief 
The doom of guilt alone, nor dare to seize 
The breast where Virtue guards the throne of Peacc^ 
Devolve, dear maid, thy sorrows on the wretch, ||^ 
Whose fear, or rage, or treachery, betray'd us I 



^ 



A TRAGEDY 241 

Irene .^ aside. 
A private station may discover more ; 
Then let me rid them of Irene's presence ; 
Proceed, and give a loose to love and treason. 

[ Withdraws, 
Asjiasia. 
Yet telL 

Demetniis. 
To tell, or hear, were waste of life, 
jisjiasia^ 
The life, which only this design supported, 
Were now well lost in hearing how you fail*d. 

Demetrius. 
Or meanly fraudulent, or madly gay, 
Abdalla, while we waited near the palace, 
With ill tim'd mirth propos'd the bowl of love. 
Just as it reach'd my lips, a sudden cry 
Urg'd me to dash it to the ground untouch'd, 
And seize my sword with disencumber'd hand. 

Asfiasia, 
What cry ? The stratagem ? Did then Abdalla. ..r. 

Demetrius, 
At once a thousand passions fir'd his cheek I 

Then all is past, he cry'd and darted from us ;• 

Nor at the call of Caii deign'd to tuni. 

Asfiasia, 
Why did you stay, deserted and betray'd ? 
"What more could force attempt, or art contrive T 

Demetrius, 
Amazement seiz'd us, and the hoary Bassa 
Stood torpid jn suspense ; but soon Abdalla 

VOL. I. 21 



3^2 IRENE ; 

Retum'd with force that made resistance vain, 
And bade his new confederates seize the traitors, 
Cali, disarm'dj was borne away to death ; 
Myself escap'd, or favoured, or neglected. 

Asfia&ia, 
O Greece I renown'd for science and for wealth. 
Behold thy boasted honours snatch'd away. 

Demetrius. 
Though disappointment blast our general scheme, 
Yet much remains to hope. I shall not call 
The day disastrous that secures our flight ; 
Nor think that effort lost which rescues thee. 

\Enter Abdalia. 

SCENE IV. 

IRENE, ASPASIA, DEMETRIUS, ABDALLA- 

Abdalia, 

At length the prize is mine The haughty maid 

That bears the fate of empires in her air, 
Hendeforth shall live for me ; for me alone 
Shall plume her charms, and, with attentive w^atch, 
Steal from Abdalla's eye the sign to smile. 

De7net7'ius. 
Cease this wild roar of savage exultation ; 
Advance, and perish in the frantic boast. 

Aspasia, 
Forbear, Demetrius, 'tis Aspasia calls thee ; 
Thy love, Aspasia, calls ; restrain thy sword j 
Nor rush on useless wounds with idle courage. 



A TRAGEDY. -43 

Demetrius. 
What now remains ? 

Asjiasia. 

It now remains to fly ! 
Demetrius. 
"Shall then the savage IIa'c, to boast his insult ; 
Tell how Demetrius shunn'd his single hand, 
Ajid stole his life and mistress from his sabre ? 

Abdalla, 
Infatuate loiterer, has Fate in vain 
Unclasp'd his iron gripe to set thee free ? 
Still dost thou flutter in the jaws of death ; 
Snar*d with thy fears, and maz'd in stupefaction i 

Demetrius. 
Forgive, my fair ; 'tis life, 'tis nature, calls ; 
Now, traitor, feel the fear that chills my hand. 

jisfiasia. 
'Tis madness to provoke superfluous danger. 
And cowardice to dread the boast of folly. 

Abdalla. 
Fly, wretch, while yet my pity grants thee flight ^ 
The power of Turkey waits upon my call. 
Leave but this maid, resign a hopeless claim, 
And drag away thy life in scorn and safety, 
Thy life, too mean a prey to lure Abdalla. 

Demetrius. 
Once more I dare thy sword ; behold the prize, 
Behold I quit her to the chance of battle. 

\_Quitti?ig Aspasia. 
Abdalla, 
Well may'st thgu call thy master to the combat, 



^44 IRENE ; 

And try the hazard, that hast nought to stake ; 
Alike my death or thine is gain to thee ; 
But soon thou shalt repent ; another moment 
Shall throw th' attending Janizaries round thee. 

[^Exic hastily Abdalla 

SCENE V. 

ASTASIA, IHENE, DEWETKIUS. 

Irene, 
Abdalla fails ; now, Fortune, all is mine. [jAddc. 

Haste, Murza, to the palace, let the Sultan 

[ Jb one of her attendants. 
Despatch his guards to stop the flying traitors, 
"While I protract their stay. Be swift and faithful. 

[^Exit Murza, 
This lucky stratagem shall charm the Sultan, [Aside. 
Secure his confidence, and fix his love. 

Deinetrius* 
Behold a boaster's worth 1 Now snatch, my fair, 
The happy moment ; hasten to the shore. 
Ere he return with thousands at his side. 

Asjiasia. 
In vain I listen to th' inviting call 
Of freedom and of love ; my trembling joints, 
Relax'd with fear, refuse to bear me forward. 
Depart, Demetrius, lest my fate involve thee ; 
Forsake a wretch abandon'd to despair. 
To share the miseries herself has caus'd'. 



A TRAGEDY. 24^ 

Demetrius. 
Let us not struggle with th' eternal will, 
Nor languish o'er irreparable ruins ; 

Come, haste and live Thy innocence and truth 

Shall bless our wand'rings, and propitiate Heav'rv. 

Irene. 
Press not her flight, while yet her feeble nerves 
Refuse their office, and uncertain life 
Still labours Avith imaginary wo ; 
Here let me tend her with officious care, 
Watch each unquiet flutter of the breast, 
And joy to feel the vital warmth return, 
To sec the cloud forsake her kindling cheek, 
And hail the rosy dawn of rising health. 

Aapasia. 
Oh! rather, scornful of flagitious greatness, 
Resolve to share our dangers and our toils, 
Companion of our flight, illastrious exile, 
Leave slavery, guilt, and infamy behind. 

Irene. 
My soul attends thy voice, and banish'd Virtue 
Strives to regain her empire of the mind ; 
Assist her efforts with thy strong persuasion ; 
Sure 'tis the happy hour ordain'd above, 
When vanquish'd Vice shall tyrannize no more. 

DemetHiis. 
Remember peace and anguish are before thee, 
And honour and reproach, and Heav'n and Hell. 

Aspasia, 
Content with freedom, and precarious greatness. 
31* 



'46 IREKE r 

Demetrius. 
Now make thy choice, Avhile yet the powV of choicr 
Kmd Heav'n affords thee, and invitmg Mercy 
Holds out her hand to lead thee back to truth. 
Irene, 

Stay in this dubious twilight of conviction, 

The gleams of reason, and the clouds of passion, 
Irradiate and obscure my breast by turns ; 
Stay but a moment, and prevailing truth 
Will spread resistless light upon my soul. 

Demetrius. 
But since none knows the danger of a moment, 
And Heav'n forbids to lavish life away. 
Let kind compulsion terminate the contest. 

[^Seizing her hajid. 
Ye Christian captives, follow me to freedom j 
A galley waits us, and the winds invite- 

Irene. 
Whence is this violence ? 

De'metriuc-* 

Your calmer thought 
Will teach a gentler term. 

Irene. 

Forbear this rudeness. 
And learn the rev'rence due to Turkey's Queen ; 
"Fly, slaves, and call the Sultan to my rescue, 

Dejnetriiis. 
Farewell, unhappy maid ; may ev'ry joy 
Be thine, that wealth can give, or guilt receive ! 

jisjmsia. 
And when, contemptuous of imperial pow'r, 



A TRAGEDY. 247 

Disease shall chase the phantoms of ambition, 
May penitence attend thy mournful bed, 
And wing thy latest prayer to pitying Heav'n. 

\^Exeu72t Dem. Asp. with jiart of the attendant is, 

SCENE VI. 

[Irene ivalks at a distance from her attendants.'] 

After a pause. 
Against the head which innocence secures, 
Insidious malice aims her darts in vain, 
Turn'd backwards by the pow'rfui breath of Heav'n. 
Perhaps even now the lovers unpursu'd 
Bound o'er the sparkling waves. Go, happy barkj 
Thy sacred freight shall still the raging main. 
To guide thy passage shall th' aerial spirits 
Fill all the starry lamps with double blaze ; 
Th' applauding sky shall pour forth all its beams, 
To grace the triumph of victorious virtue ; 
While I, not yet familiar to my crimes, 
Recoil from thought, and shudder at myself. 
How am I chang'd ! How lately did Irene 
Fly from the busy pleasures of her sex. 
Well pieas'd |o search the treasures of remembrance, 
And Vive iiei!* guiltless moments o'er anew ! 
Come, let us seek new pleasures in the palace, 

[To her attendants^ going off. 
Till soft fatigue invite us to repose. 



24-8 IRENE;- 

SCENE VII. 

\^jEnte7' MusTAPHA, meeting and stopping her.~\' 

Mustapha. 
Fair Falsehood, stay. 

Irene, 
What dream of sudden power 
Has taught my slave the language of command ! 
Henceforth be wise, nor hope a second pardon. 

Mustapha. 
Who calls for pardon from a wretch condemned ? 
Irene. 

Thy look, thy speech, thy action, all is wildness 

Who charges guilt on me ? 

Mustapha. 

Who charges guilt ! 

Ask of thy heart ; attend the voice of Conscience 

Who charges guilt ! lay by this proud resentment 
That fires thy cheek, and elevates thy mien, 
Nor thus usurp the dignity of vu'tue. 
Review this day. 

Irene. 
Whate'er thy accusation, 
The Sultan is my judge. 

Mustapha. 
That hope is past ; 
Hard was the strife of justice and of love ; 
But now 'tis o'er, and justice has prevaird. 
Know'st thou not Cali ? know'st thou not Demetyius F 



^ TRAGEDY, 245 

Irene. 

Bold slave, I know them both I know them traitors'! 

Mustapha. 

Perfidious I yes too -yrell thou know'st them traitors-, 

Ireyie. 
Their treason throws no stain upon Irene. 
This day has prov'd my fondness for the Sultan ; 
He knew Irene's truth. 

Mustafiha. 
The Sultan knows it, 

He knows how near apostacy to treason 

But 'tis not mine to judge I scorn and leave tUee. 

I go, lest vengeance urge my hand to blood, 
To blood too mean to stain a soldier's sabre. 

[Exit Mustaphia. 
Irene-, to her attendants. 

Go, blust'ring slave He has not heard of Murza. 

That dext'rous message frees me from suspicion. 

SCENE VIII. 

Enter Hasan, Caraza, ninth Mutes, tvho throvj the 
black robe upon Irene, and sign to her attendants tb 
vdthdra-iv. 

Hasan. 
Forgive, fair Excellence, th' unwilling tongue, 
The tongue, that, forc'd by strong necessity. 
Bids beauty, such as thine, prepare to die. 

Irene. 
What wild mistake is this 1 Take hence with speed 
Yciir robe of mourning;, and your dogs of death. 



250 



IRENE 



Quick from my sight, you inauspicious monsters; 
Nor dare henceforth to shock Irene's walks. 

Hasan. 
Alas I they come commanded by the Sultan, 
Th' unpitying minister of Turkish justice, 
Nor dare to spare the life his frown condemns: 

Irene. 
Are these the rapid thunderbohs of war, 
That pour with sudden violence on kingdoms, 
And spread their flames resistless o'er the world r 
What sleepy charms benumb these active heroes', 
Depress their spirits, and retard their speed ? 
Beyond the fear of ling'ring punishment, 
Aspasia now, within her lover's arms, 
Securely sleeps, and in delightful dreams 
Smiles at the threat 'nings of defeated rage. 

Caraza. 
We come, bright Virgin, though relenting Nature 
Shrinks at the hated task, for thy destruction ; 
When summon'd by the Sultan's clam'rous fury, 
We ask'd with tim'rous tongue, th' offender's name, 
He struck his torlur'd breast, and roar'd, Irene I 
W^e started at the sound, again inquir'd j 
Again his thund'ring voice return'd, Irene I 

Irene. 
AVhence is this rage ? What barb'rous tongue has' 

wrong'd me ? 
What fraud misleads him ? Or what crimes incense ? 

Hasan. 
Expirmg Cali nam'd Irene's chamber. 
The place appointed for his master's death. 



A TRAGEBY. 25 i 

Irene. 
Irene's chamber ! from my faithful bosom 

Far be the thought But hear my protestation, 

Caraza, 
'Tis ours, alas ! to punish, not to judge, 
Not callM to try the cause, we heard the sentence, 
Ordain'd the mournful messengers of death, 

Irene, 
Some ill designing statesman's base intrigue I 
Some cruel stratagem of jealous beauty ! 
Perhaps yourselves the villains that defame me, 
Now haste to murder, ere returning thought 

Recall th' extorted doom It must be so ; 

Confess your crime, or lead me to the Sultan, 
There dauntless truth shall blast the vile accuser ^ 
Then shall you feel what language cannot utter, 
^ach piercing torture, ev'ry change of pain, 
That vengeance can invent, or pow'r inflict. 

\_Enter Abdalla ; he tstops short and llstenf?, 

SCENE IX. 

IRENE, HASAN, CARAZA, ABDALLA, 

Abdalla^ aside, 
AH is not lost, Abdalla ; see the queen, 
See the last witness of thy guilt and fear 

•Enrob'd in death Despatch her, and be greats 

Caraza. 
Unhappy fair ! compassion calls upon me 
To check this torrent of imperious rage ; 



: 



i52 IREXK , 

While unavailing anger crowds thy tongue 
With idle threats and fruitless exclamation, 
The fraudfiil moments ply their silent wings, 
And steal thy life away. Death's horrid angel 
Already shakes his bloody sabre o'er thee. 
The raging Sultan burns till our return. 
Curses the dull delays of ling'ring mercy. 
And thinks his fatal mandates ill obey'd. 

Abdalla. 
Is then your sov'reign's life so cheaply rated, 
That thus you parley with detected treason ? 
Should she prevail to gain the Sultan's presence, 
Soon might her tears engage a lover's credit ; 
Perhaps her malice might transfer the charge ; 
Perhaps her pois'nous tongue might blast Abdalla 
Ireyie. 

let me but be heard, nor fear from me 
Or flights of pow'r, or projects of ambition. 
My hopes, my wishes, terminate in life, 
A little life, for grief, and for repentance. 

Abdalla, 

1 mark'd her wily messenger afar. 
And saw him skulking in the closest walks ; 
I guess'd her dark designs and warn'd the Sultan, 
And bring her former sentence new confirm'd. 

Hasan. 
Then call it not our cruelty, nor crime ; 
Deem us not deaf to wo, nor blind to beauty, 
That thus constrain'd v/e speed the stroke of death. 

[Beckons the Mutes. 



A Til AGED Y. 25; 

Irene. 
O, name not death ! Distraction and amazement. 
Horror and agony, are in that sound ! 
I^et me but live, heap woes on woes upon me. 
Hide me with murd'rers in the dungeon's gloom, 
Send me to wander on some pathless shore, 
Let shame and hooting infamy pursue me, 
I-*et slav'ry harass, and let hunger gripe. 

Caraza, 
Could we reverse the sentence of the Sultan, 
Our bleeding bosoms plead Irene's cause. 
But cries and tears are vain ; prepare with patience 
To meet that fate we can delay no longer. 

{The Mutes at the sign lay hold of her. 
Abdalla. 
Despatch, ye lingering slaves ; or nimbler hands, 
Quick at my call shall execute your charge ; 
Despatch, and learn a fitter time for pity. 

Irene. 
Grant me one hour, O grant me but a moment. 
And bounteous Heav'n repay the mighty mercv 
With peaceful death, and happiness eternal, 
Caraza. 

The prayer I cannot grant I dare not hear. 

Short be thy pains. [Signs again to the Mutes. 

Irene. 

Unutterable anguish ! 
Guilt and Despair, pale spectres, grin around me, 
And stun me with the yellings of damnation i 
O, hear my pray'rs ! accept, all pitying Heav'n, 
These tears, these pangs, these last remaips of life j 
VOL. I. 22 



254 IRENE ; 

Nor let the crimes of this detested day 

Be charg'd upon my soul. O, mercy I mercy I 

\_Mutes force her out. 

SCENE X. 

ABDALLA, HASAN, CARAZA. 

Ahdalla^ aside. 
Safe in her death, and in Demetrius' flight, 
AtTdalla, bid thy troubled breast be calm.. 
Now shalt thou shine the darling of the Sultan, 
The plot all Cali's, the detection thine. 

Hasan to Caraza. 
Does not thy bosom, for I know thee tender, 
A stranger to th' oppressor's savage joy, 
^lelt at Irene's fate, and share her woes ? 

Caraza. 
Her piercing cries yet fill the loaded air. 
Dwell on my ear, and sadden all my soul. 
But let us try to clear our clouded brows. 
And tell the horrid tale with cheerful face ; 
The stormy Sultan rages at our stay. 

Abdalla. 
Frame your report with circumspective art ; 
Inflame her crimes, exalt your own obedience ; 
But let no thoughtless hint involve Abdalla. 

Caraza, 
What need of caution to report the fate 
Of her the Sultan's voice condemn'd to die ? 
Or why should he, whose violence of duty 
Has serv'd his prince so well, demand our silence ? 



A TRAGEDY. 255 

Abdalla. 
Perhaps my zeal, too fierce, betrayM my prudence ; 
Perhaps my warmth exceeded my commission ; 

Perhaps I will not stoop to plead my cause, 

Or argue with the slave that sav'd Demetrius. 

Caraza. 
From his escape learn thou the pow'r of virtue ; 
Nor hope his fortune, while thou want'st his worth. 

Hasan. 
The Sultan comes, still gloomy, still enrag'd, 

SCENE XI. 

HASAN, CARAZA) MAHOMET, MUSTAFHA, ABDALLA. 

Mahomet, 
Where *s this fair trait'ress? Where's this smiling mis- 
chief, 
Whom neither vows could fix, nor favours bind \ 

Hasan, 
Thine orders, mighty Sultan I are performed, 
And all Irene now is breathless clay. 

Mahomet. 
Your hasty zeal defrauds the claim of justice, 
And disappointed vengeance burns in vain. 
I came to heighten tortures by reproach, 
And add new terrors to the face of death. 
Was this the maid whose love I bought with empire i 
True, she was fair ; the smile of innocence 
PlayM on her cheek So shone the first apostate 



256 IRENE ; 

Irene's chamber ! Did not roaring C^li, 

Just as the rack forc'd out his struggling soul-, 

Name for the scene of deafla, Irene's chamber ? 

Mustafiha. 
His breath prolong'd but to detect her treason, 
Then in short sighs forsook his broken frame. 

Mahomet. 
Decreed to perish in Irene's chamber ! 
There had she lulPd me with endearing falsehooc(?j 
Glasp'd in her arms, or slumb'ring on her breast, 
And bar'd my bosom to the ruffian's dagger. 

SCENE XIL 

HASAN, CARAZA, MAHOMET, MUSTAPHA, MURZA, 
ABDALLA. 

Murza. 
Forgive, great Sultan ! that, by fate prevented, 
I bring a tardy message from Irene. 

Mahomet. 
Some artful wile of counterfeited love \ 
Some soft decoy to lure me to destruction I 
And thou, the curs'd accomplice of hei' treason, 
Declare thy message, and expect thy doom. 

Murza. 
'J' he queen requested that a chosen troop 

Might intercept the traitor Greek, Demetrius, 
Then ling'ring with his captive mistress here. 

Mustapha. 
The Greek Demetrius ! whom th' expiring Bassa 
Declar'd the chief associate of his guilt I 



A TRAGEDY. 25;?: 

Mahomet. 

A chosen troop to intercept Demetrius 

The queen requested Wretch, repeat the message ; 

And, if one varied accent prove thy falsehood, 
Or but one moment's pause betray confusion, 

Those trembling limbs Speak out, thou shiv'ring 

traitor. 

Murzai 

The queen requested 

Mahomet. 
Who ? the dead Irene ? 
Was she then guiltless ! has my thoughtless rage 
Bestroy'd the fairest workmanship of Heav'n ! 
Doom*d her to death unpity'd and unheard, 
Amidst her kind solicitudes for me ! 
Ye slaves of cruelty, ye tools of rage, 

[To Has. a«c?Car. 
Ye blind officious ministers of folly, 
Could not her charms repress your zeal for murder ? 
Could not her pray'rs, her innocence, her tears, 
Suspend the dreadful sentence for an hour ? 
One hour had freed me from the fatal error ! 
One hour had sav'd me from despair and madness. 

Caraza. 
Your fierce impatience forc'd us from your presence, 
Urg'd us to speed, and bade us banish pity. 
Nor trust our passions with her fatal charms. 

Mahomet. 
What hadst thou lost by slighting those commands ? 

Thy life, perhaps Were but Irene spar'd, 

22* 



258 IRENE; 

Well if a thousand lives like thine had perish*d ; 
Such beauty, sweetness, love, were cheaply bought 
With half the grov'ling slaves that load the globe. 

Mustapha. 
Great is thy wo ! But think, illustrious Sultan, 
Such ills are sent for souls like thine to conquer. 
Shake off this weight of unavailing grief, 
Rush to the war, display thy dreadful banners, 
And lead thy troops victorious round the M^orld. 

Mahomet. 
Robb'd of the maid with whom I wish'd to triumph, 
No more I burn for fame., or for dominion ; 
Success and conquest now are empty sounds, 
Remorse and anguish seize on all my breast ; 
Those groves, whose shades embower'd the dear Irene, 
Heard her last cries, and fann'd her dying beauties, 
Shall hide me from the tasteless world for ever. 

[Mahomet goes back^ and retufns. 
Yet, ere I quit the sceptre of dominion, 
Let one just act conclude the hateful day. 
Hew down, ye guards, those vassals of destruction, 

^Pointing to Hasan ajid CaralZa. 
Those hounds of blood, that catch the hint to kill, 
Bear off with eager haste th' unfinished sentence. 
And speed the stroke, lest mercy should o'eitake them 

Caraza, 
Then hear, great Mahomet, the voice of truth. 

Mahomet. 
Hear i shall I hear thee I didst thou hear Irene I 

Caraza* 
Hear ^ut a momenta 



A TRAGEDY. 259 

Mahomet^ 

Hadst thou heard a moment. 
Thou might'st have liv*d, for thou hadst spar'd Irene. 

Caraza. 
I heard her, pitied her, and Avish'd to save her, 
Mahomet. 

And wish'd be still thy fate to wish in vairi. 

Caraza. 
I heard, and soften*d, till Abdalla brought 
Her final doom, and hurried her destruction. 

Mahomet. 
Abdalla brought her doom ! Abdalla brought it ! 
The wretch, whose guilt, declar'd by tortur'd Cali, 
My rage and grief had hid from my remembrance ; 
Abdalla brought her doom ! 

Hasan . 
Abdalla brought it. 
While yet she begg'd to plead her cause before thee. 
Mahomet. 

seize me', Madness Did she call on me ! 

1 feel, I see the ruffian's barb'rous rage. 
He seiz'd her melting in the fond appeal, 

And stopp'd the heav'nly voice that call'd on me. 
My spirits fail ; awhile support me, Vengeance.. .« 
Be just, ye slaves ; and, to be just, be cruel j 
Contrive new racks, imbitter ev'ry pang. 
Inflict whatever treason can deserve, 
Which murder*d innocence that call'd on me . 

\^ExU Mahomet j Abdalla U dragged off. 



260 IRENE ; A TRAGEDY 

SCENE XIII. 

HASAN, CARAZA, MUSTAPHA, MURZA. 

Mustajiha to Murza, 
What plagues, what tortures, are in store for thee, 
Thou sluggish idler, dilatory slave 1 
Behold the model of consummate beauty, 
Torn from the mourning earth by thy neglect. 
Murza. 

Such was the will of Heav'n A band of Greeks, 

That mark'd my course, suspicious of my purpose, 
Rush'd out and seiz'd me, thoughtless and unarm'd. 
Breathless, amaz'd, and on the guarded beach 
Detain'd me, till Demetrius set me free. 

Musia/ilia. 
So sure the fall of greatness, rais'd on crimes ! 
So fix'd the justice of all conscious Heav'n ! 
When haughty guilt exults with impious joy, 
Mistake shall blast, or accident destroy ; 
Weak man with erring rage may throw the dart, 
But Heav'n shall guide it to the guilty heart. 



EPILOGUE, 

BY SIE WILLIAM YOUNG. 



Marry a Turk ! a haughty, tyrant king ! 
Who thinks us women born to dress and sing 
To please his fancy ! see no other man ! 

Let him persuade me to it if he can ; 

Besides, he has fifty wives, and who can bear 
To have the fiftieth part her paltry share ? 

'Tis true, the fellow's handsome, straight, and tallj 
But how the devil should he please us all ! 

My swain is little true but, be it known, 

My pride's to have that little all my own. 
Men will be ever to their errors blmd. 
Where woman's not allow'd to speak her mind. 
I swear this Eastern pageantry is nonsense. 
And for one man one wife's enough of concience. 

In vain proud man usurps what's woman's due j 
For us alone, they honour's paths pursue ; 
Inspir'd by us, they glory's heights ascend ; 
Woman the source, the object, and the end. 
Though wealth, and pow'r, and glory, they receive, 
These all are trifles to what we can give. 
For us the statesman labours, hero fights. 
Bears toilsome days, and wakes long tedious nights ; 
And, when blest peace has silenc'd war's alarms, 
Receives his full reward in Beauty's.arms. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



PROLOGUE, 

SPOKEN BY MR. GARRICK, APRIL 5, 1750, BEFORE THE 
MASQUE OF COMUS. 

ACTED AT DRURY LANE THEATRE, FOR THE BENE- 
FIT OF Milton's grand daughter.* 

1 E patriot crowds, who burn for England's fame, 
Ye nymphs, whose bosoms beat at Milton's name. 
Whose gen'rous zeal, unbought by flattering rhymes. 
Shames the mean pensions of Augustine times, 
Immortal patrons of succeeding days, 
Attend this prelude of perpetual praise ; 
Let wit, condemn'd the feeble war to wage 
With close malevolence, or public rage. 
Let study, worn with virtue's fruitless lore. 
Behold this theatre, and grieve no more. 
This night, distinguished by your smiles, shall tell 
That never Britain can in vain excel ; 
The slighted arts futurity shall trust, 
And rising ages hasten to be just. 

At length our mighty bard's victorious lays 
Fill the loud voice of universal praise ; 

* SeeVolIX. p. 131. 



264 IVHSCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

And baffled spite, with hopeless anguish dumb, 
Yields to renown the centuries to come ; 
With ardent haste each candidate of fame, 
Ambitious, catches at his tow'ring name ; 
He sees, and pitying sees, vain wealth bestow, 
Those pageant honours which he scorn'd below. 
While crowds aloft the laureat bust behold, 
Or trace his form on circulating gold, 
Unknown, unheeded, long his offspring lay. 
And want hung threat'ning o'er her slow decay; 
What though she shine with no Miltonian fire, 
No fav'ring Muse her morning dreams inspire ; 
Yet softer claims the melting heart engage. 
Her youth laborious, and her blameless age ; 
Hers the mild merits of domestic life. 
The patient sufferer, and the faithful wife. 
Thus, grac'd with humble virtue's native charms, 
Her grandsire leaves her in Britannia's arms ; 
Secure with peace, with competence, to dwell. 
While tutelary nations guard her cell. 
Yours is the charge, ye fair, ye wise, ye brave ! 
'Tis yours to crown desert beyond the grave. 



PROLOGUE 

TO THE COMEDY OF 
THE GOOD NATURED MAN, 1769. 



Prest by the load of life, the weaiy mind 
SuiTeys the gen'ral toil of human kind, 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 2^5 

With cool submission joins the lab'ring train, 

And social sorrow loses half its pain ; 

Our anxious bard without complaint may share 

This bustling season's epidemic care ; 

JLike Cesar's pilot, dignify'd by fate, 

Tost in one common storm with all the great ; 

Distrest alike the stasesman and the wit. 

When one a Borough courts, and one the Pit. 

The busy candidates for power and fame 

Have hopes, and fears, and wishes, just the same ; 

Disabled both to combat or to fly. 

Must hear all taunts, and hear without reply. 

Uncheck'd on both, loud rabbles vent their rage, 

As mongrels bay the lion in a cage. 

Th' offended burgess hoards his angry tale. 

For that blest year when all that vote may rail ; 

Their schemes of spite the poet's foes dismiss. 

Till that glad night when all that hate may hiss. 

" This day the powder'd curls and golden coat," 
Says swelling Crispin, " begg'd a cobler's vote." 
" This night our wit," the pert apprentice cries, 
" Lies at my feet ; I hiss him, and he dies." 
The great, 'tis true, can charm th' electing tribe j 
The bard may supplicate, but cannot bribe. 
Yet, judg'd by those whose voices ne'er were sold, 
He feels no want of ill persuading gold ; 
But, confident of praise, if praise be due, 
Trusts without fear to merit and to you. 

VOL. I. 23 



26.^ anSCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



PROLOGUE, 



TO THE COMEDY OF 

A WORD TO THE WISE.* 

SPOKEN BY MR. HULL. 

This night presents a play which public rage, 
Or right, or wrong, once hooted from the stage, f 
From zeal or malice, now no more we dread. 
For English vengeance wars not with the dead. 
A gen'rous foe regards with pitying eye 
The man whom fate has laid where all must lie. 

To wit reviving from its author's dust, 
Be kind, ye judges, or at least be just. 
For no renew'd hostilities invade 
Th* oblivious grave's inviolable shade. 
Let one great payment ev'ry claim appease^ 
And him, who cannot hurt, allow to please ; 
To please by scenes unconscious of offence, 
By harmless merriment, or useful sense. 
Where aught of bright or fair the piece displays^ 
Approve it only.. ...'tis too late to praise* 

* Performed at Covent Garden tlieatie, in 1777, for the benefit 
of Mrs. Kelly, widow of Hugh Kelly, Esq. (the author of the play) 
and her children. 

t Upon the first representation of tliis play, 1770, a party as- 
sembled to damn it, and succeeded. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 26^ 

If want of skill or want of care appear, 

Forbear to hiss the poet cannot hear. 

By all like him must praise and blame be found, 
At best a fleeting gleam, Oi' empty sound. 
Yet then shall calm reflection bless the night, 
When liberal pity dignify 'd delight ; 
When Pleasure fir'd her torch at Virtue's flame. 
And Mirth was Bounty with an humbler name. 



SPRING, 

AN ODE. 

Stern Winter now, by Spring repressed,. 

Forbears the long continued strife ; 
And Nature on her naked breast 

Delights to catch the gales of life. 
Now o*er the rural kingdom roves 

Soft Pleasure with the laughing train, 
Love warbles in the vocal groves. 

And vegetation plants the plain. 
Unhappy ! whom to beds of pain. 

Arthritic* tyranny consigns ; 
Whom smiling nature courts in vain. 

Though rapture sings and beauty shine,s. 
Yet though my limbs disease invades, 

Her wings Imagination tries, 
And bears me to the peaceful shades, 

Where 's humble turrets rise. 

* The author being ill of the gout. 



268 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 

Here stop, my soul, thy rapid flight, 

Nor from the pleasing groves depart, 
Where first great nature charm'd ray sight> 

Where wisdom first informed my heart. 
Here let me through the vales pursue 

A guide a father and a friend, 

Once more great Nature's works renew. 

Once more on Wisdom's voice attend. 
From fulse caresses, causeless strife, 

Wild hope, vain fear, alike remov'd ; 
Here let me learn the use of life, 

When best enjoy 'd..... when mostimprov'd. 
Teach me, thou venerable bower, 

Cool meditation's quiet seat. 
The gen'roils scorn of venal power, 

The silent grandeur of retreat. 
When pride by guilt to greatness cjimbs. 

Or raging factions rush to war. 
Here let me learn to shun the crimes 

I can*t prevent, and will not share. 
But lest I fall by subtler foes. 

Bright Wisdom, teach me Curio's art, 
The swelling passions to compose. 

And quell the rebels ofihe heart. 



MIDSUMMER, 



AN ODE. 



O PHOEBUS ! down the western sky* 
Far hence diffuse thy burning ray,. 



Miscellaneous poems. 26^ 

Thy light to distant worlds supply, 

And wake them to the cares of day. 
Come, gentle Eve, the friend of care, 

Come, Cynthia, lovely queen of night I 
Refresh me with a cooling air, 

And cheer me with a lambent light. 
Lay me, where o'er the verdant ground 

Her living carpet Nature spreads ; 
Where the green bower, with roses crown*d, 

In showers its fragrant foliage sheds. 
Improve the peaceful hour with wine. 

Let music die along the grove ; 
Around the bowl let myrtles twine. 

And ev'ry strain be tun*d to love. 
Come, Stella, queen of all my heart ! 

Come, born to fill its vast desires I 
Thy looks perpetual joys impart, 

Thy voice perpetual love inspires. 
Whilst all my wish and thine complete, 

By turns we languish and we burn, 
Let sighing gales our sighs repeat. 

Our murmurs murmuring brooks return. 

Let me when nature calls to rest, 

And blushing skies the morn loretel, 
Sink on the down of Stella's breast. 

And bid the waking world farewell. 



^^Q MISCELLANEOUS POEMe 

AUTUMN, 

AN ODE. 

Alas ! with swift and silent pace, 

Impatient time rolls on the year ; 
The seasons change, and nature's face 

Now sweetly smiles, now frowns severe. 
'Twas Spring, 'twas Summer, all was gay. 

Now Avitumn bends a clouded brow ; 
The flowers of Spring are swept away. 

And Summer fruits desert the bough. 
The verdant leaves that play*d on high, 

And wanton'd on the western breeze. 
Now trod in dust neglected lie. 

As Boreas strips the bending trees. 
The fields that wav'd with golden grain, 

As russet heaths, are wild and bare ; 
Not moist with dew, but drench'd with rain, 

Nor health nor pleasure, wanders there. 
No more while through the midnight shade> 

Beneath the moon's pale orb I stray. 
Soft pleasing woes my heart invade, 

As Progne pours the melting lay. 
From this capricious crime she soars, 

Oh ! would some god but wings supply ! 
To where each morn the Spring restores, 

Companion of her flight I'd fly. 
Vain wish ! me fate compels to bear 

The downward season's iron t*eign, 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS^. 2n 

Compels to breathe polluted air, 

And shiver on a blasted plain. 
What bliss to life can Autumn yield, 

If glooms, and showers, and storms prevail 
And Ceres flies the naked field. 

And flowers, and fruits, and Phoebus fail ? 
Oh ! what remains, what lingers yet. 

To cheer me in the darkening hour 1 
The grape remains ! the friend of wit, 

In love, and mirth, of mighty power. 
Haste press the clusters, fill the bowl ; 

Apollo ! shoot thy parting ray ; 
This gives the sunshine of the soul, 

This god of health, and verse, and day. 
Still still the jocund strain shall flow, 

The pulse with vigorous rapture beat-", 
My Stella with new charms shall glow, 

And ev'ry bliss in v/ine shall meet. 



WINTER, 

AN ODE. 

No more the morn, with tepid rays. 

Unfolds the flower of various hue ; 
Noon spreads no more the genial blaze, 

Nor gentle eve distils the dew. 
The lingering hours prolong the night, 

Usurphig darkness shares the day ; 
Her mists restrain the force of light, 

And Phoebus holds a doubtful sway. 



172 MISCELLANEOUS POEMSi 

By gloomy twilight half reveal'd, 

With sighs we view the hoary hill, 
The leafiess wood, the naked field, 

The snow topt cot, the frozen rill. 
No music warbles through the grove, 

No vivid colours paint the plain ; 
No more with devious steps I rove 

Through verdant paths, now sought in vain. 
Aloud the driving tempest roars, 

Congeal'd, impetuous showers descend ; 
Haste, close the window, bar the doors, 

Fate leaves me Stella, and a friend. 
In nature's aid, let art supply. 

With light and heat my little sphere ; 
Rouze, rouze the fire, and pile it high, 

Light up a constellation here. 
Let music sound the voice of joy. 

Or mirth repeat the jocund tale ; 
Let Love his wanton wiles employ, 

And o'er the season wine prevail. 
Yet time life's dreary winter brings. 

When mirth's gay tale shall please no more ; 
Nor music charm though Stella sings ; 

Nor love, nor wine, the spring restore. 
Catch, then. Oh ! catch the transient hour, 

Improve each moment as it flies ; 
Life's a short summer man a flower ; 

He dies alas 1 how soon he dies 1 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 2^ 



THE WINTER'S WALK. 



Behold, my fair, where'er we rove, 

What dreaiy prospects round us rise ; 
The naked hill, the leafless grove. 

The hoary ground, the frowning skies I 
Nor only through the wasted plain, 

Stem Winter ! is thy force confessed ; 
Still wider spreads thy horrid reign, 

I feel thy power usurp my breast. 
Enlivening hope, and fond desire, 

Resign the heart to spleen and care ; 
Scarce frighted Love maintains her fire, 

And rapture saddens to despair. 
In groundless hope, and causless fear, 

Unhappy man ! behold thy doom ; 
Still changing with the changeful year, 

The slave of sunshine and of gloom. 
Tir'd with vain joys, and false alarms, 
With mental and corporeal strife. 
Snatch me, my Stella, to thy arms. 

And screen me from the ills of life. 



TO MISS ***** 

ON HER GIVING THE AUTHOR A GOLD AND SILK NET 
WORK PURSE OF HER OWN WEAVING.* 

Though gold and silk their charms unite 
To make thy curious web delight, 

* Printed among Mrs. Willium's Miscellauies. 



^4 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS* 



In vain the varied work would shine, 

If wrought by any hand but thine ; j 

Thy hand, that knows the subtler art 

To weave those nets that catch the heart 

Spread out by me, the roving coin | 

Thy nets may catch, but not confine ; 
Nor can I hope thy silken chain 

The glittering vagrants shall restrain. 1] 

Why, Stella, was it then decreed 
The heart once caught should ne*er be freed I 



TO MISS***** 

ON HER PLAYING UPON THE HARPSICHORD IN A RO.OM 
HUNG WITH FLOWER PIECES OF HER OWN FAINTING.* 

When Stella strikes the tuneful string 
In scenes of imitated Spring, 
Where Beauty lavishes her powers 
On beds of never fading flowers, 
And pleasure propagates around 
Each charm of modulated sound ; 
Ah ! thmk not, in the dangerous hour, 
The nymph fictitious as the flow'r ; 
But shun, rash youth, the gay alcove, 
Nor tempt the snares of wily love. 

When charms thus press on ev'ry sense,- 
What thought of flight, or of defence ? 

* Printed among Mrs, William's MisceUanics- 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 275 

Deceitful hope, and vain desire, 
For ever flutter o'er her lyre. 
Delighting as the youth draws nigh, 
To point the glances of her eye, 
And foi'ming with unerring art 
New chains to hold the captive heart. 

But on those regions of delight 
Might truth intrude with daring flight, 
Could Stella, sprightly, fair, and young, 
One moment hear the moral song, 
Instruction with her flowers might spring. 
And wisdom warble from her string. 

Mark, when from thousand mmgled dyes 
Thou seest one pleasing form arise, 
How active light, and thoughtful shade, 
In greater scenes each other aid ; 
Mark when the different notes agree 
In friendly contrariety. 
How passion's well accorded strife 
Gives all the harmony of life ; 
Thy pictures shall thy conduct frame, 
Consistent still, though not the same ; 
Thy music teach the nobler art. 
To tune the regulated heart. 



276 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

EVENING ; AN ODE. 

TO STELLA. 

Evening now from purple wings 
Sheds the grateful gifts she brings ; 
Brilliant drops bedeck the mead, 
Cooling breezes shake the reed ; 
Shake the reed, and curl the stream 
Siiver'd o'er with Cynthia's beam ; 
Near the checkered, lonely grove. 
Hears, and keeps thy secrets. Love. 
Stella, thither let us stray. 
Lightly o'er the dewy way. 
Phoebus drives his burning car, 
Hence, my lovely Stella, far ; 
In his stead, the Queen of Night 
Round us pours a lambent light ; 
Light that seems but just to show 
Breasts that beat, and cheeks that glow. 
Let us now, in whisper'd joy, 
Evening's silent hours employ. 
Silence best, and conscious shades, 
Please the hearts that love invades, 
Other pleasures give them pain, 
Lovers all but love disdain. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS- 277 



TO THE SAME. 



Whether Stella*s eyes are found 
Fix'd on earth, or glancing round, 
If her face with pleasure glow, 
If she sigh at others wo, 
If her easy air express 
Conscious worth, or soft distress, 
Stella's eyes, and air, and face, 
Charm with undiminished grace. 

If on her we see displayed 
Pendant gems, and rich brocade, 
If her chintz with less expense 
Flows in easy negligence ; 
Still she lights the conscious flame, 
Still her charms appear the same ; 
If she strikes the vocal strings, 
If she's silent, speaks, or sings, 
If she sit, or if she move, 
Still we love and still approve. 

Vain the casual, transient glance, 
Which alone can please by chance. 
Beauty, which depends on art. 
Changing with the changing heart, 
Which demands the toilet's aid, 
l*endant gems and rich brocade. 
If those charms alone can prize, 
Which from constant nature rise, 
Which nor circumstance nor dress, 
E'er can make, or more, or less. 

VOL. I. 24 



2/8 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



TO A FRIEND. 

No more thus brooding o'er yon heap, 

With Avarice painful vigils keep ; 

Still unenjoy'd the present store, 

Sull endless sighs are breath'd for more. 

Oh 1 quit the shadow, catch the prize. 

Which not all India's treasure buys ! 

To purchase Heaven has gold the power ? 

Can gold remxove the mortal hour ? 

In life can love be bought with gold ? 

Are friendship's pleasures to be sold ? 

No all that's worth a wish a thought, 

Fair virtue gives unbrib'd, uiibought. 
Cease then on trash thy hopes to bmd. 
Let nobler views engage thy mind. 

With science tread the wond'rous way. 
Or learn the Muses' moral lay ; 
In social hours indulge thy soul. 
Where mirth and temperance mix the bowl ; 
To virtuous love resign thy breast, 
And be, by blessing beauty blest. 

Tiius taste the feast by nature spread, 
Ere youth and all its joys are fled ; 
Come taste with me the balm of life, 
Secure from pomp, and ^vealth, and strife. 
I boast whate'er for man was meant. 
In health, and Stella, and content ; 
And scorn 1 oh ! let that scorn be thine J 
Mere things of clay that dig the mine. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 279 



STELLA IN MOURNING. 

When lately Stella's form display'd 

The beauties of the gay brocade,* 

The nymphs, who found their power decline, 

Proclaim'd her not so fair as fine. 

" Fate;! snatch away the bright disguise, 

And let the goddess trust her eyes." 

Thus blindly pray'd the fretful Fair, 

And Fate malicious heard the pray*r ; 

But, brighten'd by the sable dress, 

As virtue rises in distress, 

Since Stella still extends her reign, 

Ah ! how shall envy sooth her pain ? 

Th* adoring Youth and envious Fair, 
Henceforth shall form one common pray'r ; 
And love and hate alike implore 
The skies..,.." That Stella mourn no more'.'** 



TO STELLA. 

Not the soft sighs of vernal gales, 
The fragrance of the flowery vales. 
The murmurs of the crystal rill, 
The vocal grove, the verdant hill ; 
Not all their charms, though all unite, 
Can touch my bosom with delight. 

Not all the gems on India's shore, 
Not all Peru's unbounded store. 



280 : MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Not all the power, Dor all the fame, 
That heroes, kmg's, or poet's, claim ; 
Nor knowledge, v/hich the learn'd approve ; 
To form one wish my soul can move. 

Yet nature's charms allure my eyes, 

And knowledge, wealth, and fame, I prize ; 

Fame, wealth, and knowledge, I obtain. 

Nor seek I nature's charms in vain ; 

In lovely Stella all combine ; 

And, lovely Stella 1 thou art mine. 



^^«gM 



VERSES. I 



WRITTEN AT THE KEQ_UEST OF A GENTLEMAN TO ^aOH 
A LADY HAD GIVEN A SPRIG OF MYRTLE.* 

What hopes, what terrors, does thy gift create ? 
Ambiguous emblem of uncertain fate 1 
The myrtle, ensign of supreme command, 
Consign'd by Venus to Melissa'ii hand. 
Not less capricious than a reigning fair. 
Oft favours, eft rejects, a lover's pray'r. 
In myrtle shades oft sings the happy swain. 
In myrtle shades despairing ghosts complain. 
The myrtle crowns the happy lovers heads, 
Th' unhappy lovers graves the myrtle spreads. 

* These verses were firbt printed in the Gentleman's Magazine 
for 1768, p. 439, but were written many years earlier. Elegant as, 
they are. Dr. fJohnsou assured mc, they were composed in the 
short space of five minutes. N. 



% 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. "^^^ 

Oh I then, the meaning of thy gift impartj 
And ease the throbbings of an anxious heart. 
Soon must this sprig, as you shall fix its doom, 
Adorn Philander's head, or grace his tomb- 



TO LADY FIREBRACE,* 

AT BURY ASSIZES. 

At length must Suffolk beauties shine in vain, 
So long renown'd in B n*s deathless strain ? 

Thy charms at least, fair Firebrace, might inspire 

Some zealous bard to wake the sleeping lyre j 

For, such thy beauteous mind and lovely face, 

Thou seem'st at once, bright nymph, a Muse and Grace. 



TO LYCE, AN ELDERLY LADY. 

Ye nymphs whom starry rays invest. 

By flatt'ring poets given. 
Who shine, by lavish lovers drest, 

In all the pomp of Heaven ; 

* This lady was Bi'idget, third daughter of Pliilip Bacon, Esq. 
of Ipswich, and relict of Philip Evers, Esq. of that town. She be 
came the second wife of Sir Cordell Firebrace, the last Baronet of 
that name, to whom she brought a fortune of twenty five thousand 
pounds, July 26, 1737 Being again left a widow in 1759, she was a 
thii-d time married, April 7, 1762, to William Campbell, Esq 
Uncle to the present Duke of Argyle, and died July 3, 1782, 
34* ^ 



282 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

Engross not all the beams on high, 

Which gild a lover's lays, 
But, as your sister of the sky, 

Let Lyce share the praise. 

Her silver locks display the moon, 

Her brows a cloudy show, 
Strip'd rainbows round her eyes are seen^. 

And show'rs from either flow* 

Her teeth the night with darkness dyes;. 

She's starr'd with pimples o'er ; 
Her tongue like nimble lightning plies,. 

And can with thunder roar. 

But some Zelinda, while I sing,. 

Denies my Lyce shines ; 
And ail the pens of Cupid's wing 

Attack my gentle lines. 

Yet, spite of fair Zelinda's eye, 

And all her bards express, 
My Lyce makes as good a sky, 

And I but flatter less. 



ON THE DEATH OF 



MR. ROBERT LEVET, 



A PRACTISER IN PHYSIC. 



Condemn'd to Hope's delusive mine, 
As on "we toil from day to day, 



IMISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 28 S 

By sudden blasts, or slow decline, 
Our social comforts drop away. 

Well try'd through many a varying year. 

See Level to the grave descend, 
OfHcious, innocent, sincere. 

Of ev'iy friendless name the friend^ 

Yet sViU he fills affection's eye, 

Obscurely wise, and coarsely kindi 
Nor, Ictter'd Arrogance, deny 

Thy praise to merit unrcfin'd. 

When fainting nature call'd for aid, 
And hov'ring death prepar'd the blow, 

His vig'rous remedy displayed 

The pow'r of art without the show. 

In misery's darkest cavern known, 

His useful care was ever nigh, 
Where hopeless anguish pour'd his groan, 

And lonely want retir'd to die. 

No summons mock'd by chill delay. 

No petty gain disdain'd by pride, 
The modest wants ofev'ry day 

The toil ofev'ry day supply'd. 

His virtues walk'd their narrow round. 

Nor made a pause, nor left a void ; 
And sure th' Etei-nal Master found 

The single talent well employed. 

The busy day the peaceful night, 

Unfelt, uncounted, glided by ; 



1284 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

His frame was firm his powers were bright 

Though now his eightieth year was nigh. 

Then, with no fiery throbbing pain, 

No cold gradations of decay, 
Death broke at once the vital chain, 

And freed his soul the nearest way. 



EPITAPH ON CLAUDE PHILLIPS, 

AN ITINERANT MUSICIAN.* 

Phillips f whose touch harmonious could remove 
The pangs of guilty pow'r, and hapless love, 
Rest here, distrest by poverty no more. 
Find here that calm thou gav'st so oft before ; 
Sleep undisturb'd, within this peaceful shrine. 
Till angels wake thee with a note like thine. 



EPITAPHIUM t 



IN 



THOMAM HANMER, Baronettum. 

Honorabilis admodum Thomas Hanmer, 

Baronettus, 

Wilhelmi Hanmer armigeri, e Peregrina Henrici 

* These lines are anicrg Mrs. Williams's Miscellanies ; they are 
nevertheless recoj^nisedas Johnson's in a memorandum of his hand 
Avritine, and were probah'y A\riUeu at her I'eqwest. Phillips was 
a travelling fidler up and down Wales, and was greatly celebrated 
for his pctbrmance. 

t At Hanmer church, in Flintshire. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 285 

Nortli ■ 
De Mildenhall in Com. Suffolciae Baronetti sorore 
et haerecle, 
Filius ; 
Johannis Hanmer de Hanmer Baronetti 
Hseres patruelis 
Antiquo gentis suae et titulo et patrimonio successit. 
Duas uxores fortitus est ; 
Alteram Isabellam, honore a patre derivato, de 
Arlington comitis^am, 
Deinde celsissimi principis ducis de Gafton viduam , 

dotariam ; 

Alteram Elizabetham Thomx Foulkes de Barton in 

Com. Suff. armigeri 

Filiam et haeredem. 

Inter humanitates studia feliciter enutritus, 

Gmnes liberalium artium disciplinas avide arripuit, 

Quas moriim suavitate hand leviter ornavit. 

Postquam excessit ex ephebis, 
Continue inter populares sues fama eminens 
Et comitatus sui legatus ad Parliamentum missus, 
Ad ardua regni negotia per annos prope triginta 

se accinxit : 

Cumque apud illos amplissimorum virorum ordines 

Solent nihil temere effutire, 

Sed iirobe perpensa disserte expromere, 

Orator gratis et pressus ; 

Non minus integritatis quam eloquentiae laude 

commendatus, 

uEque omnium, utcunque inter se alioqui dissidentiumj 

Aures atque animos attraxit. 



286 MISCELLANEOUS POE^IS. 

Annoque demum m.dcc.xiii. regnante Anna, 
Felicissimse florentissimaeque memoriae regina, 

Ad Prolocutoris cathedram 

Communi Senatus universi voce designatus est : 

Quod munus, 

Cum nuUo tempore non difficile, 

Tum illo certe, negotiis 

Et variis et lubricis et implicatis difficillimiim, 

Cum dignitate sustinuit. 

Honores alios, et omnia quae sibi in lucrum cederent 

munera, 

Sedulo detrectavit, 

Ut rei totus inserviret publicae ; 

Justi rectique tenax, 

Et fide in patriam incorrupta notus. 

Ubi omnibus, quae virum civemque bonum decenit^ 

officiis satisfecisset, 
Paulatim se a publicis consiliisin otium recipiens,. 

Inter literarum amoenitates, 

Inter ante-actae vitae baud insuaves recordationes, 

Inter amicorum convictus et amplexus, 

Honorifice consenuit ; 

Et bonis omnibus, quibus charissimus vixit, 

Desideratissimus obiit. 

Hie, juxta cineres avi, suos condi voluit, et curavlt, 

Gulielmus Bunbury B**"^ nepos et haeres. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 28/ 



PARAPHRASE OF THE ABOVE EPITAPH, 

BY DR. JOHNSON.* 

Thou who siirvey'st these walls with curious eye, 
"Pause at the tomb where Hanmer's a.shes lie ; 
His various worth through varied life attend. 
And learn his virtues while thou niourn'st his end. 

His force of genius burn'd in early youth, 
With thirst of knowledge, and with love of truth ; 
His learning, join'd with eacli endearing art, 
Charm'd ev'ry ear, and gain'd on ev'ry heart. 

Thus early wise, th' endanger'd realm to aid. 
His country call'd him from the studious shade ; 
In life's first bloom his public toils began, 
At once commenc'd the senator and man. 

In business dext'rous, weighty in debate. 
Thrice ten long years he labour'd for the state ; 
In ev'ry speech persuasive wisdom flow'd. 
In ev'ry act refulgent virtue glow'd ; 
Suspended faction ceas'd from rage and strife, 
To hear his eloquence, and praise his life. 

Resistless merit fix'd the senate's choice, 
Who hail'd him speaker with united voice. 
Illustrious age ! how bright thy glories shone. 
When Hanmer fiU'd the chair and Anne the throne i 

* This paraphrase Is inserted in Mrs. Williams's Miscellanies. 
The Latin is there said to be written by Dr. Freind. Of the per- 
son whose memory it celebrates, a copious account may be seen 
JD. the appendix to the supplement to the Biographia Britannica 



288 MISCEI^LANEOUS POEMS. 

Then when dark arts obscurM each fierce debate, 
When mutual frauds pei plex'd the maze of state, 

The moderator firmly mild appear'd 

Beheld with love with veneration heard. 

This task perform'd he sought no gainful post, 

Nor wish'd to glitter at his coimtry's cost ; 
Strict on the iiis,hi he fix'd his steadfast eye, 
With temperate zeal and wise anxiety ; 
Nor e'er from Virtue's paths was lurM aside, 
To pluck the flov/'rs of pleasure, or of pride. 
Her gifts despised, Corruption blnsh'd and fled, • 
And Fame pursu'd him where Conviction led. 

Age call'd, at length., his active mind to rest, 
With honour sated, and with cares opprest ; 
To letter'd ease retir'd, and honest mirth. 
To rural grandeur and domestic worth ; 
Delighted still to please mankind, or mend, 
The patriot's fire yet sparkled in the friend. 

Calm Conscience, then, his former life survey*d, 
And recollected toils endear'd the shade. 
Till Nature call'd him to the general doom, 
And Virtue's sorrow dignified his tomb. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 285 

TO MISS HICKMAN,* 

PLAYING ON TftE SPINNET. 

Bright Stella, form'd for universal reign, 
Too well you know to keep the slaves you gain ; 
When in your eyes resistless lightnings play, ") 

Aw'd into love our conquer'd hearts obey, >• 

And yield reluctant to despotic sway j J 

But when your music soothes the raging pain, 1 

We bid propitious Heaven prolong your reign, V 

We bless the tyrant, and we hug the chain. J 

When old Timotheus struck the vocal string, 
Ambition's fury fir'd the Grecian king ; 
Unbounded projects lab'ring in his mind, 
He pants for room, in one poor world confin'd. 
Thus wak'd to rage, by music's dreadful pow'r, 
He bids the sword destroy, the flame devour. 
Had Stella's gentle touches mov'd the lyre, 
Soon had the monarch felt a nobler fire ; 
No more delighted with destrrxtive war. 
Ambitious only now to please the fair ; 
Resign'd his thirst of empire to her charms, 
And found a thousand worlds in Stella's arms. 

* These lines, which have been communicated by Dr. Turtoh, 
son to Mrs. Turton, the lady to whom they are addressed by her 
maiden name of Hickman, must have been written at least as 
early as the year 1734, as that was the year of her marriage ; at 
how much earlier a pei^iod of Dr. Johnson's life, they may have' 
been written, is not known. 
VOL. I. 25 



290 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

PARAPHRASE OF PROVERBS, CHAP. VI. 

Verses 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11. 

" Go to the Ant^ thou Sluggard"* 

Turn on the prudent ant thy heedful eyes, 
Observe her labours, sluggard, and be wise ; 
No stem command, no monitory voice, 
Prescribes her duties, or directs her choice j 
Yet, timely provident, she hastes away, 
To snatch the blessings of the plenteous day j 
When fruitful summer loads the teeming plain^ 
She crops the harvest, and she stores the grain* 
How long shall sloth usurp thy useless hours, 
Unnerve thy vigor, and enchain thy pow'rs ; 
While artful shades thy downy couch enclose. 
And soft solicitation courts repose ? 
Amidst the drowsy charms of dull delight, 
Year chases year with unremitted flight. 
Till want, now following, fraudulent and slow, 
Shall spring to seize thee like an ambush'd foe. 



HORACE, LIB. IV. ODE VII. 

TRANSLATED. 

The snow, dissolv'd, no more is seen. 
The fields and woods, behold 1 are green .; 
The changing year renews the plam, 
The rivers know their banks again ; 

* la Mrs. Williams's Miscellanies, but now jn-inted from th<S 
original ia Dr. Johnson's own hand writing. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 291 



The sprightly nymph and naked grace 
The mazy dance together trace ; 
The changing year's successive plan 
Proclaims mortality to man ; 
Rough winter's blasts to spring give way, 
Spring yields to summer's sov'reign ray ; 
Then summer sinks in autumn's reign, 
And winter chills the world again ; 
Her losses soon the moon supplies, 
But wretched man, when once he lies 
Where Priam and his sons are laid. 
Is nought but ashes and a shade. 
Who knows if Jove, who counts our score, 
Will toss us in a morning more ? 
What with your friend you nobly share 
At least you rescue from your heir. 
Not you, Torquatus, boast of Rome, 
When Minos once has fix*d your doom, 
Or eloquence, or splendid^birth, 
Or virtue, shall restore to earth. 
Hippolytus, unjustly slain, 
Diana calls to life in vain ; 
Nor can the might of Theseus rend 
The chains of Hell that hold his friend. 
Mv. 1784. 



292 MISCELLANEOUS POEM&. 



^ 



The folloiving Translations, Parodies, and Bur- 
lesque Verses, -inost of them extempore., are taken 

~/ro7?i' Anecdotes of Dr. 5 oimson ; fiubiished by Mrs^ 
Piozzi. 

ANACREON, ODE IX. 

Lovely courier of the sky, 
Whence and whither dost thou fly ? 
Scatt'iing, as thy pinions play. 
Liquid fragrance all the way ; 
Is it business ? is it love ? 
Tell me,telltne, gentle dove^ 

Soft Anacreon's vows I bear, 
Vows to Myrtale the fair ; 
Grac'd with all that charms the heart. 
Blushing nature, smiling art. 
Venus, courted by an ode, 
On the bard her dove bestow'd ; 
Vested with a master's right. 
Now Anacreon rules my flight ; 
His the letters that you see. 
Weighty charge consign'd to me ; 
Think not yet my service hard, 
Joyless task without reward ; 
Smiling at my master's gates, 
Freedom my return awaits ; 
But the lib'ral grant in vain 
Tempts me to be wild again. 
Can a prudent dove decline 
Blissful bondage such as mine I 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 293 

Over hills and fields to roam, 
Fortune's guest without a home ; 
Under leaves to hide one's head, 
Slightly shelter'd, coarsely fed ; 
Now my better lot bestows 
Sweet repast, and soft repose ; 
Now the gen'rous bowl I sip 
A^ it leaves Anacreon's lip ; 
Void of care, and free from dread, 
From his fingers snatch his bread ; 
Then, with luscious plenty gay, 
Round his chamber dance and play ; 
Or from wine, as courage springs, 
O'er his face extend my wings ; 
And when feast and frolic ^tire. 
Drop asleep upon his lyre. 
This is all, be quick and go. 
More than all thou canst not know; 
Let me now my pinions ply, 
I have chatter'd like a pye. 



LINES 

WRITTEN IN RIDICULE OF CERTAIN POEMS PUBLISHED 

IN i77r. 

Where soE'ER I turn my view. 
All is strange, yet nothing new ; 
Endless labour all along ; 
Endless labour to be wrong ; 
Phrase that time hath flung away, 
Uncouth words in disarray, 
25* 



^.'^4 .MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Trick'd in antique ruff and bonnet, 
Ode, and elegy, and sonnet. 



PARODY OF A TRANSLATION 

FROM THE MEDEA OF EURIPIDES. 

Err shall they not, who resolute explore, 

Times gloomy backward with judicious eyes 5 

And, scanning right the practices of yore, 
Shall deem our hoar progenitors unwise. 

They to the dome where smoke, with curling play, 
Announc'd the dinner to the regions round, 

Summon'd the singer blithe, and harper gay. 
And aided wine with dulcet streaming sound; 

The better use of notes, or sweet, or shrill. 
By quiv'ring string, or modulated wind ; 

Trumpet or lyre to their harsh bosoms chill 

Admission ne'er had sought, or could not find. 

Oh ! send them to the sullen mansions dun. 
Her baleful eyes where Sorrow rolls around ; 

Where gloom enamour'd Mischief loves to dwell. 
And Murder, all blood bolter'd, schemes the wound. 

When cates luxuriant pile the spacious dish, 
And purple nectar glads the festive hour ; 

The guest, without a want, without a wish, 
Can yield no room to music*s soothing pow r. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 295 



TRANSLATION 

Of the tnvo first Stanzas of the Song " Rio verde, Rio 
verde," finnted in Bishoji Percy's Reliqiies of Ancient 
English Foetiy. An Impromptu. 

Glassy water, glassy water, 

Down whose current, clear and strong. 

Chiefs confus'd in mutual slaughter, 
Moor and Christian, roll along. 



IMITATION OF THE STYLE OF **** 

Hermit hoar, in solemn cell 

Wearing out life's evening grey, 
Strike thy bosom, sage, and tell 

What is bliss, and which the way. 

Thus I spoke, and speakmg sigh'd, 
Scarce repress'd the starting tear, 

When the hoary sage reply'd, 

Come, my lad, and drink some beer. 



BURLESQUE 



0¥ THE FOLLOWING LINES OF LOPEZ DE VEGA. 
AN IMPROMPTU. 



Se acquien los leones vence 
Vence una muger hermosa 



296 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

O el cle flaco averguen9e 
O ella di fer mas furiosa. 

If the man, who turnips cries, 
Cry not when his father dies, 
'Tis a proof that he had rather 
Have a turnip than his father. 



TRANSLATION 

OF THE FOLLOWING LINES AT THE END OF BARETTi' 
EASY PHRASEOLOGY....AN IMPROMPTU. 

Viva viva la padrona I 
Tutta bella, e tutta buona, 
La padrona e un angiolella 
Tutta buona e tutta bella ; 
Tutta bella e tutta buona ; 
Viva ! viva la padrona ! 

Long may live my lovely Hetty 1 
Always young, and always pretty ; 
Always pretty, always young, 
Live, my lovely Hetty, long I 
Always young, and always pretty. 
Long may live my lovely Hetty. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 297 



IMPROVISO TRANSLATION 

OF THE FOLLOWING DISTICH ON THE DUKE OF MODE- 
NA's running away FROM THE COMET IN 1742 OR 

1743. 

Se al venir vostro i principi se n* vanno 
Deh venga ogni di durate un anno. 

If <it your coming princes disappear, 

Comets ! come every day and stay a year. 



liMPROVISO TRANSLATION 

op THE FOLLOWING LINES OF M. BENSERADE, A SON LIT. 

Theatre des ris, et des plem's, 
Lit 1 ou je nais, et ou je meurs, 
Til nous fais voir comment voisins, 
Sont nos plaisirs, et nos chagrins. 

In bed we laugh, in bed we cry, 
And born in bed, in bed we die ; 
The near approach a bed may show 
Of human bliss to human wo. 



EPITAPH FOR MR. HOGARTH. 

The hand of him here torpid lies. 

That drew th' essential form of grace ; 

Here clos'd in death th' attentive eyes, 
That saw the manners in the face. 



298 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

TRANSLATION 

©F THE FOLLOWING LINES WRITTEN UNDER A PRINT 
REPRESENTING PERSONS SKATING. m. 

SuR un mince chrystal Thyver conduit leurs pas, 

Le precipice est sous la glace ; 

Telle est de nos plaisirs la legere surface ; 
fjlissez, mortels ; n'appuyez pas. 

O'ER ice the rapid skater flies, 

With sport above, and death below ; 

Where mischief lurks in gay disguise, 
Thus lightly touch and quickly go. 

IMPROMPTU TRANSLATION 

OF THE SAME. 

O'er crackling ice, o'er gulphs profoiuid. 
With nimble glide the skaters play ; 

O'er treach'rous Pleasure's flow *ry ground 
Thus lightly skim and haste away. 



TO MRS. THRALE, 

ON HER COMPLETING HER THIRTY FIFTH YEAl 
AN IMPROMPTU. 

Oft in danger, yet alive. 
We are come to thirty five ; 
Long may better years arrive, 
Better years than thirty five ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 299 

Could philosophers contrive 
Life to stop at thirty five, 
Time his hours should never drive 
O'er the bounds of thirty five. 
High to soar, and deep to dive. 
Nature gives at thirty five. 
Ladies, stock and tend your hive, 
Trifle not at thirty five ; 
For, howe'er v^^e boast and strive, 
Life declines from thirty five. 
He that ever hopes to thrive 
Must begin by thirty five > 
And all who wisely wish to wive 
Must look on Thrale at thirty five. 



IMPROMPTU TRANSLATION 

OF AN AIR IN THE CLEMENZA DE TITO OF METAS' 

TAsio, BEGINNING," Dell se piaccrmi vuoi.'* 

Would you hope to gain my heart. 
Bid your teasing doubts depart ; 
He, who blindly trusts, will find 
Faith from ev*ry gen'rous mind ; 
He, who still expects deceit, 
Only teaches how to cheat. 



300 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

TRANSLATION 

OF THE SPEECH OF A<J.UILEIO IN THE AD^IANO 'O? 

METASTASio, BEGINNING " tu clie in corte 
invenchiasti." 

Grown old in courts, thou surely art not one 

Who keeps the rigid rules of ancient honour ; 

Well skill'd to soothe a foe with looks of kindness, 

To sink the fatal precipice before him, 

And then lament his fall with seeming friendship ; 

Open to all, true only to thyself, 

Thou know'st those arts which blast with envious praise. 

Which aggravate a fault with feign'd excuses,^ 

And drive discountenanc'd virtue from the throne ; 

That leave the blame of rigor to the prince, 

And of his ev*ry gift usurp the merit ; 

That hide in seeming zeal a wicked purpose, 

And only build upon another's ruin. 



POEMATA, 



MESSIA.* ^ 

Ex alieno ingcnio poeta, ex suo tanium versificator. 

ScALiG. Poet, 

1 OLLITE concentum, Solymaeas tollite nymphx 
Nil mortale loquor ; coelum mihi carminis alta 
Materies ; poscunt gravius coelestia plectrum. 
Muscosi fontes, sylvestria tecta valete, 
Aonidesque Deae, et mendacis somnia Pindi ; 
Til, mihi, qui flamma movisti pectora sancti 
Siderea Isai^e, dignos accende furores ! 
Immatura calens rapitur per secula vates 

Sic orsus Qualis rerum mihi nascitur ordo 1 

Virgo 1 virgo parit I felix radicibus arbor 
Jess3eis surgit, mulcentesque sethera flores 
Coelestes lambunt animae, ramisque colurnba, 
Nuncia sacra Dei, plaudentibus insidet alis. 

* This translation has been severely criticised by Dr. Warton, in 
his edition of Pope, vol. i>. p. 105. 8vo. 1797. It certainly contains 
some expressions that ai'e not classical. Let it be remembered, 
however, that it was a college exercise, performed with great ra^ 
pidity, and was at first praised beyond all suspicion of defect. O-. 
vol. I. 26 



302 POEMATA. 

Nectareos rorcs, alimentaque mida coelum 
Prxbeat, et tacite foecundos irriget imbres. 
Hue, foedat quos lepra, urit quos febris, adestc, 
Dia falutares spirant medicamina rami ; 
Hie requies fessis ; non sacra saevit in umbra 
Vis Boreae gelida, aut rapidi violentia solis, 
Irrita vanescent prisca vestigia fraudis 
Justitiseque manus pretio intemerata bilancem 
Attollet reducis ; bellis prsetendet oiivas 
Compositis p^ alma suas, terrasqiie revisens 
Sedatas niveo virtus lucebit amictu ; 
Volvantur celeres anni ! lux purpuret ortum 
Expectata diu ! naturge claustra refringens, 
Nascere, magne pucr ! tibi primas, ecce, coi'ollas 
Deproperat tellus, fundit tibi munera, quicquid 
Carpit Arabs, hortis quicquid frondescit Eois. 
Altius, en ! Lebanon gaudentia culmina tollit, 
En 1 summo exultant nutantes vertice sylvse. 
Mittit aromaticas vallis Saronica nubes, 
Et juga Carmeli recreant fragrantia coelum. 
Deserti laeta moUescunt aspera voce 
Auditur Deus 1 ecce Deus ! reboantia circum 
Saxa sonant, Deus ! ecce Deus ! deflectitur aether, 
Demissumque Deum tellus capit ; ardua cedrus, 
Gloria sylvarum, dominum inclinata salutet. 
Surgite convalles, tumidi subsidite montes I 
Sternite saxa viam, rapidi discedite fluctus ; 
En 1 quern turba diu eccinerunt enthea, vatcs 
En 1 salvator adest ; vultus agnoscite cseci 
Divinos, surdos sacra vox permulceat aures. 
Ille cutim spissam visus hebetare vetabit; 



POEMATA. 

Reclusisquc oculis infundet amabile lumen ; 
Obstrictasque cliu linguas in carmina solvet 
Ille vias vocis pandet, flexusque liquentis 
Harmonias purgata novos mirabitur amis. 
Accrescunt teneris tactu nova robora nervis : 
Consuetus fulcro innixiis reptarc bacilli 
Nunc saltu capreas, nunc cursu provocat euros. 
Non planctusj non moesta sonant suspiiia ; pectus 
Singultans mulcet, lachrymantes tergit ocellos. 
Vincla coercebunt luctantem adamantina mortem 
jEternoque Orci dominator vulnere languens 
Invalid! raptos sceptri plorabit honores. 
Ut qua dulce strepent scatebrse, qua lata virescunt 
Pascua, qua blandum spirat purissimus aer, 
Pastor agit pecudes, teneros modo suscipit agnos 
Et gremio fotis selectas porrigit herbas, 
Amissas modo quaerit oves, re\ocatque vagantes ; 
Fidus adest custos, seu nox furat horrida nimbisj 
Sive dies medius morientia torreat arva. 
Postera sic pastor divinus secla beabit, 
Et curas felix patrias testabitur orbis. 
Non ultra infestis concurrent agmina signis, 
Hostiles oculis flammas jaculantia torvis ; 
Non litui accendent bellum, non campus ahenis 
Triste coruscabit radiis ; dabit hasta recusa 
Vomerem, et in falcem rigidus curvabitur ensis. 
Atria, pacis opus, surgent, finemque caduci 
Natus ad optatum perducet caepta parentis. 
Qui duxit sulcos, illi teret area messem, 
Et seras texent vites umbracula proli. 
Attoniti dumeta vident inculto coloni 



303 



,3p4 POEM ATA. 

Suave rubere rosis, sitientesque inter arenas 
Garrula mirantur salientis murmura rivi. 
Per saxa, ignivomi nuper spel^a draconis. 
Caiina viret, juneiqiietremit variabilis iimbi-a. 
Horruit implexo qua vallis sente, figurse 
Surgit amans abies teretis, buxique sequaces 
Artificis frondent dextrse ; palmisque rubeta 
Aspera, odoratse ceduntniala gramiHa myrto- 
Per valles sociata lupG lasciviet agna, 
Cumque leoiio petet tutus prassepe juvencug. 
Florea mansuetae petulantes vincula tigri 
Per ludum pueri injicient, et fessa colubri 
Membra viatoris recreabunt frigore linguae. 
Serpentes teneris nil jam lethale micantes 
Tractabit palmis infans, motusque trisuicse 
Ridebit linguae innocuos, squamasque virentes 
Aureaque Admirans rutilantis fulgura cristx. 
Indue regin«iPo turritro frontis honores 
Tolle Salema sacros, quam circum gloria pennas 
Explicat, incinctam radiatae luce tiarae I 
En ! formosa tibi spatiosa per atria, proles 
Ordinibus surgit densis, vitamque requirit 
Impatiensj Icnteque fiuentes increpat annos. 
Ecce peregrinis ferveat tua limina turbis ; 
Barbaras en! clarum divino lumine templum 
Ingreditur, cultuque tuo mansucscere gaudet. 
Cii:inameos cumulos, Nabathaci munera veris, 
Ecce cremant genibus tritae regalibus aroe I 
Solis Ophyrasis crudum tibi montibus aurum 
Maturant radii ; tibi balsama suda' Idume. 
^theris en portas sacro fulgore ^nicantcs^ 



POEMATA. 305 

Coelicolae pandunt, torrentis aurea lucis 
Flumina prorompunt ; non posthac sole rubescet 
India nascenti, placidaeve argentea noctis 
Luna vices revehet ; radios pater ipse diei 
Proferet archetypos ; coelestis gaudia lucis 
Ipso fonte bibes, quae circumfusa beatam 
Regiam inundabit, nullis cessura tenebris. 
Littora deficiens arentia deseret sequor ; 
Sidera fumabunt, diro labefacta tremore 
Saxa cadent, solidique liquescent robora montis j 
Tu secura tamen confusa elementa videbis, 
Laetaque Messia semper dorninabere rege, 
Pollicitis firmata Deij stabilita ruinis. 



[Jan. 20, 21, 1773.] 

ViT^ qui varias vices 
Rerum perpetuus temperat Arbiter^ 

Lseto cedere lumini 
Noctis tristitiam qui gelidse jubet, 

Acri sanguine turgidos, 
Obductosque oculos nubibus humidis 

Sanari voluit meos. 
Et me, cuncta beans cui nocuit dies, 

Luci reddidit et mihi. 
Qua te laude, Deus qua prece prosequar 

Sacri discipulus libri 
Te semper studiis utilibus colam ; 

Grates, summe Pater, tuis 
Recte qui fruitur muneribus, dedit.. 
26* 



§06 



POEMATA 



[Dec. 25, 1779.'] 
Nunc dies Christo memoranda nato 
Fulsit, in pectus mihi fonte purum 
Gaudium sacro fluat, et benigni 

Gratia Coeli I 

Christe da tutam trepido quietem, 
Christe, spem prsesta slabilem timenti ; 
Da fidem certam, precibusque lidis 

Annue, Christe. 



[In Lecto, die Passionis. Apr. 13, 17S1.3 

SuMME Deus, qui semper amas quodcunque creasti 
Judice quo, scelei'um est poenituisse salus ; 

Da veteres noxas animo sic flere novato, 
Per Christum ut veniam sit reperire mihi. 



[In Lecto. Dec. 25, 1782.] 

Spe non inani confugis, 
Peccator, ad latus meum ; 
Quod^poscis, baud unquam. tibir 
Negabitur solatium. 



POEMATA. 30r 



[Nocte, inter 16 et 17 Junii, 1783.*] 

SuMME Pater, quodcunque tuum t de corpore Numen \ 
Hoc statuat, II precibus § Christus adesse velit; 

Ingenio parcas, nee sit mihi culpa rogasse,^ 
Qua solum potero parte, placere ** tibi. 



[Cal. Jan. in Iccto, ante lucem. 1784.3 

SuMME dator vitas, natur?e ?eterne magister, 
Causarum series quo moderante fluit, 

Respice quern subiget senium, morbique seniles-. 
Quern terret vitse meta propinqua suae, 

Respice inutiliter lapsi quern posr.itet, aevi ; 
Recte ut poeniteat, respice, magne parens. 



Pateh benigne, summa semper lenitas, 
Crimine gravatani plurimo mentem leva ; 
Concede veram poenitentiam, precor, 

* The night ahove referred to by Dr. Johnson was that in -which 
a paralytic sti'oke had deprived him of his voice ; ai.tl. in the anx- 
iety he felt lest it should likewise have inipaii'ed his understand- 
ing, he composed the above lines, and said, concerning them, that 
he knew at the time that they were not good, but then that he 
deemed his discerning this to be sufficient for the quieting the 
anxiety before mentioned, as it sliewed him that his power of judg- 
ing was not diminished. 

t Al. tuse. + Al. leges. ^ Al. statuant. 

§ Al. votis. ^ Al. precarL ** Al.litare. 



308 



POEMATA. 



Concede agendam legibus vitam tuis. 
Sacri vagantes luminis gressus face 
Rege, et tuere, qnse nocent pellens procul ; 
Veniam petenti, summe da veniam, paler j 
Veniseque sancta pacis adde gaudia ; 
Sceleris ut expers omni, et vacuus metu, 
Te, mente pura, mente tranquilla colam ; 
Mihi dona morte haec impetret Christus sua. 



[Jan. 18, irS4.] 

SuMME Pater, puro coUustra lumine pectus, 

Anxietas noceat ne tenebrosa mihi. 
In me sparsa manu virtutum semina larga 

Sic ale, provemat messis ut ampla boni. 
Noctes atque dies animo spes Iseta recursetj 

Certa mihi sancto flagret amore fides. 
Certa yetat dubitare fides, spes laeta timere, 

Velle vetet cuiquam non bene sanctus amor. 
Da, ne sint permissa, pater, mihi praemia frustra^ 

Et colere, et leges semper amare tuas. 
H?ec mihi, quo gentes, quo secuh\, Christe, piasti,. 

Sanguine, precanti promereare tuo ! 



[Feb. 27, 1784.] 

Mens mea quid quereris ? veniet tibi mollior hota, 
In summo ut videas numine Jseta patrem ; 

Divinam insontes iram pliicavit Jesus ; 
Nunc est pro poena poenituisse reis. 



POEM ATA. SO^ 

CHRISTIANUS PERFECTUS. 

^ui cupit in sanctos Christo cogente referri, 
Abstergat mundi labem, nee gauclia carnis 
Captans, nee fastu tumidus, semperque futuro 
Instet, et evellens terroris spicula corde, 
Suspiciat tandem elementem in numine patrem. 

Huie quoque, nee genii nee seetx noxius ulli, 
Sit saeer orbis amor, miseris qui semper adcsse 
Gestiat, et, nullo pietatis limite clausiiSj 
Cunctorum ignoscat vitiis, pietate fruatur. 
Ardeat huic toto sacer ignis pectore, possit 
Ut vitam, poseat si res, impendere vero. 

Cura placere Deo sit prima, sit ultima, sanctse 
Irruptum vitae cupiat servare tenorem ; 
Et sibi, delirans quanquam et peeeator in horas 
Displiceat, servet tutum sub peetore reetum ; 
Nee natet, etnunc has partes, nune eiigat illas, 
Nee dubitet quern dicat herum, sed, totus in uno, 
Se fidum addicat Christo, mortalia temnens. 

Sed timeat semper, caveatque ante omnia, turbos 
Ne stoiidas similis, leges sibi segregct audalc 
Quas servare veiit, leges quas lentus omittat. 
Plenum opus effugiens, aptans jugamoiiia cello 
Sponte sua demens ; nihilum decedere summse 
Vult Deus, at qui euncta debit tibi, euneta reposcit. 
Denique perpeluo eontendit in ardua nisu, 
Auxilioque Dei frctus, jam raente serena 
Pergit, et imperiis sentit se dulcibus actum. 
Paulatim mores, animum, vitamque refinglt, 
Effigiemque Dei, quantum servare lieebit, 
Itiduit, et, terris lyiajor. coelestia spirat; 



SIO POEM ATA. 



Luce collustret mini pectus alma, 
Pellat et tristes animi tenebras, 
Nee sinat semper tremere ac dolore, 

Gratia Christi; 
Me pater tandem reducem benigno 
Summus amplexu foveat, beato 
Me gregi sanctus socium beatum 

Spiritus addat. 



I 



jEterne rerum conditor, 

Salutis Eeternce dator ; 

Felicitatis sedibus 

Qui nee scelestos exigis, 

Quoscumqu'e scelerum poenitet ; 

Da, Christe, poenitentiam, 

Veniamque, Christe, da mihi ; 

jEgrum trahenti spiritum 

Succurre pr^esens corpori, 

Multo gravatam crimine 

Mentem benignus alleva. i 



JEJUNIUM ET CIBUS. 

Serviat ut menti corpus jejunia serva, 
Ut mens utatur corpore, sume cibos. 



POEM AT A. 311 



AD URBANUM.* 1738. 

Urbane, nullis fesse laboribus, 
Urbane, nullis victe calumniis, 
Cui fronte sertum in erudita 
Perpetuo viret, et virebit ; 
Quid moliatur gens imitantium, 
Quid et minelur, sollicitus parum, 
Vacare solis perge Musis, 
Juxta animo studiisque foelix. 
Linguse procacis plumbea spicula, 
Fidens, superbo frange silentio ; 
Victiix per obstantes catervas 
Sedulitas animosa tendet. 
Intende ncrvos fortis, inanibus 
Risurus olim nisibus eniuli ; 
Intende jam nervos, habebis, 
Participes opera camoenas. 
Non uUa Musis pagina gratior, 
Quam qu?e severis ludicra jungere 
Novit, futigatamque nugis 
Utiiibus recreare mentem. 
Texente nymphis serta Lycoride, 
Rosie ruboretn sic viola adjuvat 
Immista, sic Iris refulget 
JE,tiiereis variata fucis. 

* See Gont. Mag. Vol. V^III. p. 156 ; aud sec also the lutr©- 
tUictloit to Vol LIV. 



12 POEMATA. 



IN RIVUM A MOLA STOANA LICHFELDIJ: 
DIFFLUENTEM. 

Err AT adhuc vitreus per prata virentia rivus, 

Quo toties lavi membra tenella puer ; 
Hie delusa rudi frustrabar brachia motu, 

Dum docuit blanda voce natare pater. 
Fecerunt rami latebras, tenebrisque diiirnis 

Fendula secretas abdidit arbor aquas. 
Nunc veteres duris periere securibus umbrae, 

Longinquisque oculis nuda lavacra patent. 
Lympha tamen cursus agit indefessa perennis, 

Tectaque qua tluxit, nunc et apei'ta fiuit. 
Quid ferat externi velox, quid deterat xtas, 

Tu quoque securus res age, Nisc, tuas. 



I 



iNnOI 2EATTON.* 

{^Post Lexicon Anglieanum auctum ct ememlatum.^ 
Lexicon ad finem longo luctamine tandem 
Scaliger ut dixit, tenuis pertxsus opellsc, 
Vile indignatus studium, nugasque molestas, 
Ingemit exosus, scribendaque lexica mandat 
Damnatis, pcenam pro poenis omnibus unam. 
Ille quidem recte, sublimis, doctus et acer, 
Quem decuit majora sequi, majoribus aptum, 
Qui veterum modo facta ducum, modo carmina vatura^ 
Gesserat et quicquid virtus, sapientia quicqiiid, 
* Sec the Life of Dr. JohnsOn, p. G2. 



POEMATA. 



3^3 



Dixerat, imperiique vices, coelique meatus, 
Ingentemque animo seclorum volveret orbem. 

Fallimur exemplis ; temere sibi turba scholarum 
I ma tiias credit permitti Scaliger iras. 
Quisque siuim n6rit modulum ; tibi prime, virorum 
Ut studiis sperem, aut ausim par esse querelis, 
Non mihi sorte datum ; lenti seu sanguinis obsint 
Frigora, seu nimium longa jacuisse veterno, 
Sive mihi mentem -dederit natura minorem. 

Te sterili functum cura, vocumquc salebris 
Tuto eluctatum spatiis sapientia dia 
Excipit aithereis, ars omnis plaudit amico, 
linguarumque omni terra discordia concors 
Multiplici reducem circum sonatore magistrum. 

Me, pensi immmiis cum jam mihi reddor, inertis 
Desidiae sors dura manet, graviorque labore 
Tristis et atra quies, et tardae taedia vita;. 
Nascuntur curis curae, vexatque dolorum 
Importuna colijors, vacuse mala somnia mentis. ; 
Nunc clamosa juvant nocturnae gaudia mensse^ 
Nunc loca sola placent ; frustra te, Somne, recumbens 
Alme voco, impatiens noctis metuensque diei. 
Omnia percurro trepidus, circum omnia lustro. 
Si qua usquam pateat melioris semita vitae, 
Nee quid agam invenio, msditatus grandia, cogo ; 
Notior ipse mihi fieri, incultumque faieri 
Pectus, et ingenium vano se robcre jactans. 
Ingenium nisi materiera doctrina ministrat. 
C^essat inops rerum, ut tcrpet, si marmoris absit 
Copia, Phidiaci laecunda potentia coeli. 
Vol. I. Sf 



314 POEM AT A. 

Quicquid agam, quocunque ferar, conatibws obstat 
Res angusta domi, et macrae penuria mentis. 

Non rationis opes animus, nunc parta recensens 
Conspicit aggestas, et se miratur in illis, 
Nee sibi de gaza praesens quod postulat usus 
Summus adesse jubet celsa dominator ab arce ; 
Non operum serie seriem dum computat aevi, 
iPraeteritis fruitur, laetos aut sumit honores 
Ipse sui judex, actae bene munera vitae ; 
Sed sua regna videns, loca nocte silentia late 
Horret, ubi vanaB species, umbrae que fugaces, 
Et rerum volitant rarae per inane figurae . 

Quid faciam ? tenebrisne pigram damnare senectam 
Restat ? an accingar studiis gravioribus audax ? 
Aut, hoc si nimium est, tandem nova kxica poscam ? 



AD THOMAM LAURENCE, 

MEDICUM DOCTISSIMUM, 
eum filium peregre agentem desiderio niimis tristi pi^sequeretui-. 

Fateris ergo, quod populus solet 
Crepare vaecors, nil sapientiam 
Prodesse vitae, literasque ; 
In dubiis dare terga rebus. 

Tu, queis laborat sors hominum, mala, 
Nee vincis acer, nee pateris pius, 
Te mille succorum potentem 
Destituit medicina mentis. 



POEM AT A 315 



Per caeca noctis taedia turbidae, 
Pigrae per horas lucis inutiles, 
Torpesque, languescisque, curis 
Solicitus nimis heu 1 paternis. 

Tandem dolori plus satis est datum, 
Exurge fortis, nunc animis opus, 
Te, docta, Laurenti ; vetustas, 
Te medici revocant labores. 

Permitte sum mo quicquid habes patri, 
Permitte iidens, et muliebribus, 
Amice, majorem querelis 

Redde tuis, tibi redde, mentem . 



IN THEATRO, March 8, 1771. 

Terth verso quater orbe lustri, 
Quid theatrales tibis, Crispe, porapae ? 
Quam decet canos male litteratos 

Seravoluptas ! 

Tene mulceri fidibus canoris ? 
Tene cantorum modulis stupere ? 
Tene per pictas oculo elegante 

Currere formas ? 

Inter aequales, sine felle liber, 
Godices, veri studiosuus, inter 
Rectius vives. Sua quisque carpal 

Gaudia gratus. 



■^1^ FOEMATA 

Lusibus gaudet puer otiosis, 
Luxus oblectat juvenem thcatri, 
At seni fluxo sapienter uti 

Tempore restate 






INSULA KENNETHI, INTER HEBRIDAS. 

Farva quidem regio, sed religione priorum 

Clara Caledonias panditur inter aquas. 
Voce ubi Cennethus populos domuisse feroce^ 

Dicitur, et vanos dedccuisse deos. 
•Hue ego delatus placido per cserula cursu, 

Scire locus volui quid daret iste novi. 
Illic Leniades humili regnabat in aula, 

Leniades, magnis nobilitatus avis. 
Una duas cepit casa cum genitore puellas', 

Quas Amor undariim crederet esse deas. 
Nee tamen inculti gelidis latuere sub antris, 

Accola Danubii qualia ssevus habet. 
Mollia non des\mt vacuze solatia vitre 

Sive Jibros poscant otia, sive lyram. 
Eulserat ilia dies, Icgis qua docta supernre 

Spes hominum et curas gens procul esse jubeU 
Ut precibus justas avertat numinis iras 

Et summi accendat pectus amore boni. 
Ponte inter strepitus non sacri munera cultus 

Cessarunt, pietas iiic quoque cura fuit. 
Nil opus este xris sacra de turrc sonantis 

Admonitu, ipsa siias nunciat iiora vices. 
Quid, quod sacrifici versavit fomina libros • 



POEM ATA. 3ir 

Sintpro legitimis pura labella sacris. 
Quo vagor ulterius ? quod iibique requiritur hie eSt* 
Hie secura quies, hie et honestus amor. 



SKIA. 

PoNTi profundis clausa recessibus, 
Strepens procellis, rupibus obsita, 
Quam grata defesso virentem, 
Skia, sinum nebulosa pandis ! 

His, cura, credo, sedibus exulat ; 
His blanda eerte pax habitat locis ; 
Non ira, non moeror quietis 
Insidias meditatur horis. 

At non eavata rupe lateseere, 
Menti nee aegrae montibus aviis 
Prodest vagari, nee frementes 
In speeula numerare fluctus. 

Humana virtus non sibi sufficit ; 
Datur nee aequum euique ainmum sibi 
Parare posse, uteunque jaetet 
Grandiloquus nimis alta Zeno. 

Exsesluantis pectoris impeuim 
Rex summe, solus tu regis, arbiter j 
Mentisque, te tollente. fluctus ; 
Te, resident, moderante fluctUs. 

27* 



3 If POEViATA 



ODE DE SKIA INSULA, 

Permeo terras ubi nuda rupes 
Saxeas miscet nebulis ruinas, 
Torva ubi rident ste riles coloni 

Rura labores, 

Pervagor gentes hominum ferorura^ 
Vita ubi nulk> decorata cultu 
Squallet informis, tigurique fumis 

Fceda latescit. 

fnter erroris salebrosa longi, 
Inter ignotae, strepitus loquelse, 
Quot modis, mecum, quid agat, require, 
Thralia dulcis I 

Seu viri curas, pia nupta mulcet, 
Seu fovet mater sobolem benigna, 
Sive cum libris novitate pascit 

Sedula mentem. 

Bit memor nostri, fideique solvat 
Fida mercedem, meritoque blandum 
'f hraiiae discant resonare nonien 

Littora Skise. 



SPES. 

Apr. 16, iras. 

HoRA sic peragit citata cursum ; 
Sic diem sequitur dies fugacem ! 
Spes novas nova lux parit, secunda 
Spondens omnia credulis homullis ; 
Spes ludit stolidas, metuque caeco 
Lu> angit, miseros ludeus homuUos; 



POEM AT A. 319 

VERSUS, COLLARI CAPRiE DOMINI BANKS 
INSCRIBENDI. 

Perpetui, ambita bis terra premia lactis 
Haec habet, altrici capra secuiida Jovis. 



AD rceMlNAM QUANDAM GENEROSAM qV JE LIBERT A- 
TISCAUS-EIN SERMOXE PATROCINATA FUERAT. 

Liber ut esse velim suasisti, piilchra Maria : 
Ut maneam liber, pulchra Maria, vale. 



JACTURA TEMPORIS. 

HoRA perit furtim laetis, mens temporis gegra 
Pigritiam incusat, nee minus hora perit. 



QuAsnavisrecipit, quantum sit pondu's aquarum, 
Dimidium tanti ponderis intret onus. 



QuoT vox Hiissa pedes abit horae parte secunda ? 
Undecies centum denos quater adde duosqu6. 



!20 POEMATA. 

Ei? BIBIXION.* 

Kai ^tov, eiTTiv oTstv pi-^m dsiVATOlo ySsAg9-«r/, 
lav ivoli yptt-^o/iiivov Btpx^^v etWov g;)^o/?. 

E/? TO T«c EAT22H2 'arsg/ twv 'Oyu^av Atvif/uA.j^ 

KvTrpiJ'i, ^KcT' st»T8 (rx.ii7rlpAiuifA.iiXi Qice- 
'Ex. A/0? sff-7/v Ov4!p, ^s/oc fwcT iypA'^iv Qy.iip@^^ 

AXXat ToJ' s/f 3-v«7»c KuTg/? «T«^4^»' OvAp- 
Z«yc //xy(^ (fiKoyoiili rroha; iKVi^a-i Kte^Awa^, 

OjUfAAO-l XAyTT^A A/Of KV^^/? 0/(r7* ?6f«. 



In ELIZiE Ekigma. 

Quis formae modus iniperio ? Venus arrogat audax 
Omnia, nee curse sunt sua seeptra Jovi. 

Ab Jove Maeonides descendere somnia narrat : 
I^aec veniunt Cypriae somnia missa De3e, 

Jupiter unus erat, qui stravit fulmine gentes ; 
Nunc armant Veneris lumina tela Jovis. 



\ O QUI benignus crimina ignoscis, pater 
Facilisque semper confitenti ades reo, 

* The Kev. Dr. Thomas Birch, author of the history of the royat 
society, and other works of note. 

f The lady on whom these verses, and the Latin ones that im- 
mediately follow, were written, ie the celebrated Mrs. Elizabeth 
Carter, who translated the works of Epictetus from the Greek. 

\ This and the three following articles are metrical versions of 
collects in the Liturgy ; the first, of that, beginning, "O GodI, 



POEM ATA. 321 

Aureni faventem precibus O pr^ebe meis ; 
Scelerum catena me laborantem grave 
jEterna tandem liberet dementia, 
Ut summa laus sit, summa Christo gloria. 

^- 
Per vitae tenebras rerumque incerta vagantem 

Numine praesenti me tueare pater 1 
Me ducat lux sancta, Deus, lux sancta sequatur ; 

Usque regat gressus, gratia fida meos. 
Sic peragam tua jussa libens, acclnctus ad omne 

Mandatum, vivam, sic moriarque tibi. 



Me, pater omnipotens, de puro respice coelo, 

QuerpL moestum et timidum crimina dira gravant ; 

Da veniam pacemque mihi, da, mente serena, 
Uttibi quse placeant, omnia promptus agam. 

Solvi, quo Christus cunctis delicta redemit, 
Et pro me pretium, tu patiare, pater. 



[Dec. 5, 1784.*] 

Sx'MME Deus, cui caeca patent penetralia cordis ; 
Quem nulla anxietas, nulla cupido fugit ; 

v'hose nature and propei'ty ;" the 2cl. and 3(1. of the collects for 
the 17th. and 2 1st. Sundays after Trinity ; and the 4th. of the 1st. 
(;ollect in the communion service. 

* The day on which he received the sacrament for the last tiixie , 
and eight days befoi-e his decease. 



522 FOEMATA. 

Quern nil vafrities peccantiim subdola celat ; 

Omnia qui spectans, omnia ubique regis ; 
Mentibus afflatu terrenas ejice sordes 

Divino, sanctus rennet ut intus amor ; 
Eloquiumque potens Unguis torpentibiis affer, 

Uttibi laus omni semper ab ore sonet|^ 
Sanguine quo gentes, quo secula cuncta piavit, 

Hsec nobis Christus promeruisse velit ! 



PSALMUS CXVIL 

Anni qua volucris ducitur orbita, 
Patrem coelicoium perpetuo colunt 
Quovis sanguine cretae 
Gentes undic'ue carmine. 
Patrem, cujus amor blandior in dies 
Mortales miseros sorvat, alit, fovet, 
Omnes undique gentes, 
Sane to dicite carmine. 



* Seu te saeva, levitas sive improba fecit, 
Musca, meai comitem, participemque dapis, 

Pone metum, rostrum, fidens immilte culullo, 
Nam licet, et toto prolue laeta mero. 

Tu, quamcunque tibi velox indulserit annus, 
Carpe diem, fugit, heu, non revocanda dies I 

* The ab(Jve is a version of the song, " Busy, curious, thirsty 
fly." 



POEMATA. 32v 

Quse nos blaiida comes, quae nos perducat eodem, 

Volvitur hora mihi, volvitur hora tibi ! 
Una quidem, sic fata volunt, tibi vivitur sestas, 

Eheu, quid decies plus mihi sexta dedit I 
Glim praeteritae numeranti tempora vitae 

Sexaginta annis non minor unus erit. 



* Habeo, dedi quod alteri ; 
Habuique, quod dedi mihi ; 
Sed quod reliuui, perdidi. 



tE WALTONI PISCATORE PREFECTO 
EXCERPTUM. 

Nunc, per gramina fusi, 
Densa fronde salicti, 

* These lines are a vei-sion of three sentences that are said in 
the manuscript to be " On the monument of Johu of Doucaster ; 
and which are as follow ; 

What I gave that I have ; 

What I spent that I had ; 

Whatlleft that Host. 

•|- These lines are a translation of part of a song in the Complete 
Angler of Isaac Walton, Avritten by John Chalkhill, a friend of 
Spenser, and a good poet in his time. They are but part of the 
last stanza, which, that the reader may have it entire, is here given 
^t length. 

If the sun's excessive heat 

Make our bodies swelter. 
To an osier hedge we get 
For a friendly shelter ; 



^^24 POEMATA. 

Dum defenditur imber, 
Molles ducimus horas. 
Hie, dum, debita morti 
Paulum vita moratur, 
Nunc rescire priora, 
Nunc instare futuris, 
J>^unc summi prece sancta 
Patris numen adire est. 
Quicquid quseritur ultra, 
Cseco dueit amore, 
Vel spe ludit inani, 
Luctus mox pariturum. 

Where in a dike, 
Pearch ox' pike. 
Roach or dace, 
We do chace. 
Bleak or gudgeon, 
Without grudging, 
We are still contented. 
Or Ave sometimes pass an hour 

Under a green willow. 
That defends us from a shower. 
Making earth our pillow ^ 
Where we may 
Think and pi'ay, 
Before death 
Stops our breath ; 
Other joys, 
Are but toys. 
And to be lamented. 



1*0EMATA. 325 

"* Quisquis iter tendis, vitreas qua lucidus imdas 
Speluncse late Thamesis praetendit opacae ; 
Marmorea trepidant quae lentae in fornice guttae, 
Crj'-stallisque latex fractus scintillat acutis ; 
Gemmaque, luxuriae nondum famulata nitenti 
Splendit, et incoquitur tectum sine fraude metalium ; 
Ingredere O ! rerum pura cole mente parentem ; 
Auriferasque auri metucns scrutare cavemas. 
Ingredere ! Egeriae sacrum en tibi panditur antrum I 
Hie, in se totum, longe per opaca futuri 
Temporis, Henricum rapuit vis vivida mentis ; 
Hie pia Vindamius traxit suspiria, in ipsa 
Morte memor patriae ; hie, Marmonti pectore prima 
Coelestis fido caluerunt semina flaramx. 
Temnere opes, pretium sceleris, patriamque tueri 
Fortis, ades ; tibi sponte patet venerabile limen. 



GR^CORUM EPIGRAMMATUM VERSIONES 
METRICiE. 

Pag. 2. Brodaei edit. Bas. Ann. 1549. 
NoN Argos pugilem, non me Messana creavit ; 

Patria Sparta mihi esti, patria clara virum. 
Arte valent isti, mihi robo revivere solo est, 

Convenit ut natis, inclyta Sparta, tuis. 

* The above lines are a version of Pope's verses on his own grot- 
to, which begin, ** Thou who shalt stop where Thames translu- 
cent wave." 

VOL. I. 28 



326 POEMATA. 

Br. 2. 

QuANDoquiDEM passim nulla ratione femntur, 
Cuncta cinis, cuncta et ludicra, cuncta nihil. 



Br. 5. 
Pectore qui duro, crudos de vite racemos 

Venturi exsecuit, vascula prima meri, 
Labraque constrictus, semesos, jamque terendos 

Sub pedibus, populo praetereunte, jacit. 
Supplicium huic, quoniam crescentia gaudia laesit, 

Det Bacchus, dederat quale, Lycurge, tibi. 
Hse poterant uvae laeto convivia cantu, 

Mulcere, aut pectus triste levare malis. 



Br. 8. 
Fert humeris claudum validis per compita caecus, 
Hie oculos socio commodat, ille pedes. 



Br. 10. 
Qui, mutare vias ausus terrequae marisque, 

Trajecit mones nauta, fretumque pedes, 
Xerxi, tercentum Spartae Mars obstitit acris 

Militibus ; terris sit pelagoque pudor ! 



Br. 11 
Sit tibi, Calliope, Parnassufti, cura, tenenti. 
Alter ut adsit Homerus, adest etenim alter Achilles* 



POEMATA. 327 

Br. 18. 

Ad Musas Venus hsec ; Veneri parete puellse, 

In vos ne missus spicula tendat amor. 
Hxc Musae ad Venerem ; sic Marti, diva, mineris, 

Hue nunquam volitat debilis iste puer. 



Br. 19. 
Prosper A sors nee te strepitoso turbine toUat, 

Nee menti injiciat sordida cura jugum ; 
Nam vita incertis ineerta impellitur auris, 
Omnesque in partes traeta, retracta fluit ; 
Firma manet virtus ; virtuti innitere, tutus 

Per fluctus vitae sic tibi cursus erit. 



Br. 24. 
HoRA bonis quasi nunc instet suprema fruaris, 

Plura ut victurus secula, parce bonis ; 
Divitiisj utrinque caveos, qui tempore parcit, 

Tempore divitiis utitur, ille sapit. 



Br. 24. 



Nunquam jugera messibus onusta, aut 
Quos Gyges cumulos habebat auri ; 
Quod vitse satis est, peto, Macrine, 
Mi, nequid nimis, est nimis probatum. 



Br. 24. 



NoN opto aut precibus posco ditescere, paucis 
Sit contenta mihi vita dolore carens. 



328 POEMATA. 

Br. 24, 
Recta ad paiiperiem tendit, cui corpora cordiest 
Multa alere, et multas sedificare domos. 



Br. 24. 

Tu neque dulce putes alienae accumbere mensoe, 
Nee probosa avidsc grata sit offa giilae ; 

Nee ficto fletu, fietis solvare cachinnis, 
Arridens domino, collacrymansque tuo. 

Laetior baud tecum, tecum neque tristior unquam, 
Sed Miliae rideos, atque dolens Milia:. 



Br. 26, 

Nil non mortale est mortalibus ; omne quod est hie 
Praetereunt, aut hos praeterit omne bonum. 



Br. 26. 
Democrite, invisas homines majore cachinno, 

Phis tibi ridendum secula nostra dabunt. 
Heraclite, fiuat lacrymarum crebrior imber ; 

Vita hominum nunc plus quod misereris habet. 
Interea dubito ; tecum me causa nee ulla 

Ridercj aut tecum me lacrimare jubet. 



Br. 26. 



Elige iter vit^ ut possis ; rixisque dolisque 

Perstrepit omne forum ; cura molesta domi est. 
Rura labor lassat ; mare mille pericula terrent ; 



POEMATA. 359 

Verte solum, fient causa timoris opes ; 
Paupertag misera est ; multae cum conjuge lites 

Tecta ineunt ; ccelebs omnia solus ages. 
Proles aucta gravat, rapta orbat, caeca juventae est 

Virtus, canities cauta vigore caret. 
Ergo optent homines, aut nunquam in luminis oras 

Venisse, aut visa luce repente mori. 



Elige iter vitae ut mavis, prudentia lausque 

Permeat omne forum ; vita quieta domi est. 
Rus ornat natura ; levat maris aspera Lucrum, 

Verte solum, donet plena crumena decus ; 
Pauperies latitat, cum conjuge gaudia multa 

Tecta ineunt, coelebs impediere minus ; 
Mulcet amor prolis, sopor est sine prole profundus ; 

Praecellit juvenis vi, piefcate senex. 
Nemo optet nunquam venisse in luminis oras, 

Aut periisse, scatet vita benigna bonis. 



Br. sr. 
Vita omnis scena est ludusque, aut ludere disce 
Seria seponens, aut mala dura pati. 



Br. 27. 
Qu^ sine morte fuga est vitse, quara turba malorum 

Non vitanda gravem, non toleranda facit ? 
Dulciadat natura quidem, mure, sidera terras, 

Lunaque quas et sol itque redicque vias. 
Terror inest aliis, moerorque, et siquid habebis 
Forte boni, ultrices experiere vices. 
28* 



350 POKMATA. 

Br. Tt, 
Terram adis nuclus, de terra nudus abibo. 
Quid labor efficiet ? non nisi nudus ero. 



Br. 27. 
Natus erain lacrymans, lacrymans e luce recede ; 

Sunt quibus a lacrymis vix vacat ulla dies. 
Tale hominum genus est, infirmum, triste, misellum* 

Quod mors in cineres solvit, et abdit humo. 



Br. 29. 
Quisquis adit lectos elata uxore secundos, 

Naufragus iratas iUe retentat aquas. 



Br. 30. 
F.SLIX ante alios nullius debitor seris, 

Hunc sequiter coelebs ; tertius, orbe, Tenis. 
Nee male res cessit, subito si funere sponsam 

Ditatus magna dote, recondis humo. 
His sapiens lectis, Epicurum quserere frustra 

Quales sint monades, qua fit inane, sinas. 

Br. 31. 
Optarit quicunque senex sibi longius aevum, 

Dignus qui multa in lustra senescat, erit. 
Cum procul est, optat, cum venit, quisque senectam, 

Incusat ) semper spe meliora videt. 



Br. 46. 
Omnis vita nimis brevis est felicibus, una 
Nox miseris longi temporis instar habet. 



POEMATA. 33 i 

Br. 55, 
Gratia er grata est velox, sin forte moretur, 
Gratia vix restat nomine digna suo. 



Br. 56. 
Seu prece poscatur, sen non, da Jupiter omne, 
Magne,bonumj omne, malum et poscentibusabnue nobis. 



Br. 60. 
Me, cane vitato, canis excipit alter ; eodem 

In me animo tellus gignit et unda feras, 
Nee mirum ; restat lepori conscendere coelum, 

Sidereus tamen hie territat, ecce canis I 



Br. 70, 
Telluri, arboribus ver frondens, sidera ccelo 

Graecisc et urbs, urbi est ista propago, decus. 



Br. 75» 
Impia facta patrans, hominis fortasse latebis, 
Non poteris, meditans prava, latere Deos. 



Br. 75, 
Antiope satyrum, Danae aurum, Europa juvencum, 
Et cycnum fecit, Leda petita Jovem. 



Br. 9i 
^Evi sat novi quam sim brevis ; aslra tuenti, 
Per certas stabili lege voluta vices, 



332 POEMATA. 

Tangitur baud pedibus tellus ; conviva Deorum 
Expleor ambrosiis exhilarorque cibis. 



1 



Br. 96. 

Quod niminum est sit ineptum, bine, ut dixere priores. 
Et melli nimio fellis amaror inest. 



Br. 103. 
PuppE gubematrix sedisti, audacia, prima 

Divitiis acuens aspera corda virum ; 
Sola rates struis inlidas, et dulcis amorem 

Lucri ulciscendum mox nece sola doces. 
Aurea secla bominum, quorum spectandus ocellis 

E longinquo itidem pontus et orcua erat. 



Br. 126. 
DiTEscis, credo, quid restat ? quicquid habebis 

In tumulum tecum, morte jubente, trahes ? 
Divitias cumulas, pereuntes negligis boras, 

Incrementa sevi non cumulare potes. 



Br. 126. 
Mater adulantum, prolesque pecunia curse, 

Teque frui timor est, teque carere dolor. • 

Br. 126. 
Me miserum sors omnis babet ; florentibus annis 

Pauper eram, nummis diiHuit area senis ; 
Quels uti poteram quondam Fortuna negavit, 

Queis uti nequeo, nunc mihi prsebet opes. 



poe:mata. 533 

* Br. 127. 

Mnemosyne, iit Sappho mellita voce canentem, 

Audiit, irata est ne nova Musa foret. 



Br. 152. 
Cum tacet indoctus, sapientior esse videtur, 

Et morbus tegitur, dum premit ora pudor. 



Br. 155, 
Nunc huic, nunc aliis cedens, cui farra Menippus 

Credit, Achsemenidse nuper agellus eram. 

Quod nulli proprium versat Fortuna, putabat 

Ille suum stolidus, nunc putat ille suum. 



Br. 156, 
NoN Fortuna sibi te gratum toUit in altum ; 

At docet, exemplo, vis sibi quanta, tuo. 



Br. 162. 
Hic, aurumut reperit, laquem abjicit, alter ut aurum 

Non reperit, nectit quern reperit, laquem. 



Br. 167, 
Vive tuo ex animo, vario rumore loquetur 

De te plebs audax, hic bene, et ille male. 



Br. 168, 
ViTxE rosa brevis est, properans si carpere nolis 

Quaerenti obveniet mox sine flore rubus. 



334 POEMATA. 

Bi\ 170. 
PuBLiciBus morsusj restincta lampade, stultus 

Exclamat; nunc me cernere definitis. 



Br. 203. 
Menodotum pinxit Diodorus, et exit imago, 
Praeter Monodotum, nullius absimilis. 



Br. 205. 
Haud lavit Phido, hand tetigit, mihi febre calenti 
In mentem ut venit nominis, interii. 



Br. 210. 
Nycticorax cantat lethale, sed ipsa canenti 
Demophilo auscultans Nycticorax moritur. 



Br. 212. 
Hermem Deorum nuncium, pennis levem, 
Quo rege gaudent Arcades, furem bourn, 
Hujus palestrae qui vigil custos stetit, 
Clam nocte tollit Aulus, et ridens ait ; 
Prxstat magislro saepe discipulus suo. 



Br. 233. 
Qui jacet hie, servus vixit, nunc, lumine cassus, 
Durio magno nun minus ille potest. 



POEMATA. 335 

Br. 227. 



FuNUS Alexandri mentitur fama ; fidesque 
Si Phoebo, victor nescit obire diem. 



Br. 241. 
Nauta, quis hoc jaceat ne percontere sepulchro, 
Eveni^t tantum metior unda tibi I 



Br. 256. 
Cur opulentus eges ? tua cuncta in fcenore ponis. 
Sic alliis dives, tu tibi pauper agis. 



Br. 262. 
Qui pascit barbam si crescit mente, Platoni, 
Hirce, parem nitido tetua barba fecit. 



Br. 266, 
Clarus Joannes, reginx affinis, ab alto 

Sanguine Anastasii ; cuncta sepulta jacent ; 
Et pius, et recti cultor ; non ilia jacere 

Dicam ; stat virtus non subigenda neci. 



Br. 267. 
CuNCTiPARENs tcllus salvc, Icvis esto pusillo 
Lysigeni, fuerat non gravis ille tibi. 



So6 POEM AT A. 

Br. 285. 
Naufragus hie jaceo ; contra, jacet ecce colon us ! 
Idem orcus terrse, sic, pelagoque subest. 



Br. 301. 
Quid salvere jubes me, pessime ? Corripe Gressus ; 
Est mihi quod non te rideo, plena salus. 



Br. 304. 
Et ferus est Timon sub terris ; janitor orci, 
Cerbere, te morsu ne, petat ille, cave. 



Br. 307 
ViTAM a terdecimo sextus mihi finiet annus, 

Astra mathematicos si modo vera docent. 
Sufficit hoc votis, flos hie pulcherrimus sevi est, 

Et senium triplex Nestoris urna capit. 



Br. 322> 
ZosiMA, quae solo fuit olim corpore serva, 
Corpore nunc etiam libera facta fuit. 



Br. 326. 
txiGUUM en I^Priami monumentum ; haud ille meretuf 
Quale, sed hostiles, quale dedere manus. 



POEMATA. 3. 

Br. 326^ 
Hector dat gladium Ajaci, dat Balteumct Ajax 
Hectori, et exitio munus utrique fuit. 



Br. 344. 
Ut vis, ponte minax ; modo tres diecesseris ulnas, 

Ingemina fluctus, ingeminaque sonum. 



Br. 344 
Naufragus hie jaceo ; fidens tamen utere veli% 
Tutum aliis aequor, me pereunte, fuit. 



Br. 398. 
Heraclitits ego ; iiidoctae ne laedite linguae 

Subtile ingenium quaero, capaxque mei, 
^Unus homo mihi pro sexcentis, turba popelli 

J^ro nuUo, clamo nunc tumulatus idem. 



Br. 399. 
Ambraciota, vale lux alma, Cleombrotus infit, 

Et saltu e muro ditis opaca petit 
Triste nihil passus, animi at de sorte Platonis 

Scripta legens, sola vivere mente cupit* 



Br, 399, 
Servus, Epictetus, mutilate corpore, vixi, 

Pauperieque Irus, curaque summa DeiiQi* 

VOL. I. 29 



•>38 POKMATA. 

Br. 445. 
Unde liic Praxiteles ? nudam vidistis, Adoni, 
Et Pari, et Anchisa, non alius, Venerem. 



Br. 451, 
SuFFLATO accendis quisquis carbone lucernam, 
Corde meo accendans ; ardeo totus ego. 



Br. 486. 
Jupiter hoc templum, ut, siquando relinquit Olympum, 
Atthide non alius desit Olympus, habet. 



Br. 487. 
Civ IS et externus grati ; domus hospita nescit • 
Quaerere, quis, cujus, quis pater, unde venis. 



POMPEII. 

Br. 487. 
Cum fugere baud possit, fractis Victoria pennis, 
Te manet imperii, Roma, perenne decus. 



Br. 488. 
Latrontis alibi locupletum quaerite tecta, 
Assidet huic custos strenua pauperies. 



POEMATA. 

FoRTUNiE malim adversae tolerare procellas, 
Quam domini ingentis ferre supercilium. 



En, Sexto, Sexti meditatur imago, silente. 
Orator statiia est, statuxque orator imago. 



PuLCHRA est virginitas intacta, at vita periret, 
Omnes si vellent virginitate frui ; 

Nequitiam fugiens, servata contrahe lege 
Conjugium, ut pro te des hominem patriae. 



Fert humeris, venerabile onus, Cythereius heros 
Per Trojae flainmas, densaque tela, patrem. 

Clamat et Argivis, vetuli, ne tangite, vita 

Exiguum est Marti, sed mihi grande lucrum. 



Forma animos hominum capit, at, si gratia desit, 
Non tenet ; esca natat pulchra, sed hamus abest. 



C' '^'iTAT aut loquitur nil vir, nil cogitat uxor, 
Felici tbalamo non, puto, rixa strepit. 



340 POEMATA. 

BucciNA disjecit Thebarum moenia, struxit 
Quae lyra qiiam sibi non concinit harmonia i- 



Mente senes olim juvenis, Faustine, premebas, 
Kunc juvenum terres tobore cortla senex. 

Laevum at utrumqiie decus, juveiii quod praebuit plim 
Turba senum, juvenes nunc tribuere seni* 



Except JE hospitio musae, tribuere libellos 
Herodoto hospitii praemia, quaeque suunii 



Stella mea, observans Stellas. Dii me aetliei-a fasint 
Multis ut te oculis sim potis aspicere. 



Clara Cheroneae soboles, Plutarche, dicavit 
Hanc statuam ingenio, Rorna benigna, tuo. 

t)as bene collatos, quos Roma et Graecia jactat,- 
Ad Divos paribus passibus ire duces ; 

Sed similem, Plutarche, tuae describere vitani 
Non poteras, regio non tulit ulla parem. 



Dat tibi Pythagoram pictor ; quod ni ipse tacere 
Pythagoras mallet, vocem habuisset opus. 



POEM AT A. 341 

pROLEM Hippi et sua qua meliorem secula nullum 
Videre, Archidicen hsec tumulavit humus ; 

Quam, reguiii sobolem, nuptam, matrem, atque sororem 
Feeerunt nuUi sors titulique gravem. 



Cecropidis gravis hie ponor, Martique dicatus, 
Quo tua signantur gesla, Philippe, lapis. 

Spreta jacet Marathon, jacet et Salaminia laurus, 
Omnia dum Macedum gloria et arma prenumt* 

Sint Demosthenicaut jurata cadavera voce, 
Stabo illis qui sunt, quique fuere, gravis. 



Floribus in pratis, legi quos ipse, coronam 
Contextam variis, do, Rhodoclea, tibi ; 

Hie anemone humet, confert narcissus odores 
Cum violis ; spirant lilia mista rosis. 

His redimita comas, mores depone superbos, 
Haec peritura nitent ; tu peritura nites ! 



Murem Asclepiades sub tecto ut vidit avarus, 
Quid tibi, nms, mecum, dixit, amice, tibi ? 

Mus blandum ridens, respondit, pelle timorem ; 
Hie, bone vir, sedem, non alimenta, peto. 



S.EPE tuum in tumulum lacrymarura decidit imber 
Quern lundit blando junctus amore dglor ; 

29* 



S42 POEMATA. 

Charus enim cunctis, tanqiiam, dum vita manebat^ 
Cuique esses natus, cuique sodalis, eras. 

Heu quam dura preces sprevit, qiiam surda querelas 
Parca, juventutem non miserata tuam 1 



Arti ignis iucem tribui, tamen artis et ignis 
Nunc ope, supplicii vivit imago mei. 

Gratia nulla honiinum mentes tenet, ista Proniethei 
Munera muneribus, si retulere fabri. 



Illa triumphatrix Graium consueta procorum 
Ante suas agmen Lais habere fores, 

Hoc Veneri speculum ; nolo me cernere qualis 
Sum nunc, nee possum cernere quails eram.. 



Crethida fabellas dulces garrire peritam 
Prosequitur lacrymis filia mcesta Sami ; 

Blandam lanifici sociam sine fine loquacem, 
Quam tenet hie, cunctas qu3s manet, alta quies. 



DiciTE, Causidici, gelidonunc Marmore magni 
Mugitum tumulus comprimit Amphiloci. 



Si forsan tumulum quo conditur Eumarus aufers 
Nil lucri facies j ossa habet et cineremr 



POEMATA. 34^S 



EPICTETEI. 



Me, rex deorum, tuque, due, necessitas, 
Quo, lege, vestra, vita me feret mea. 
Sequar libenter, sin reluctari velim, 
Fiam scelestus, nee tamen minus sequar. 



E. THEOCRITO. 



PoETA, lector, hie quiescit Hipponax, 
Si sis scelestus, prateri, procul, marmor ; 
At te bonum si noris, et bonis natum, 
Tutum hie sedile, et si placet, sopor tutvfs. 



EUR. MED. 193-^203. 

NoN immerito culpanda venit 
Proavuni vsecors insipientia, 
Qui convivia lautasque dapes 
Hilarare suis jussere nibdis 
Cantum, vitae dulce levamen. 
At nemo feras iras hominum, 
Domibus elaris exitiales. 
Voce aut fidibus pellere docuit 
Queis tamen aptam feire medelam 
Utile cunctis hoc opus esset ; 
Namque, ubi mensas onerant epulde* 
Quorsum dulcis luxuria soni I 



344 POEMATA. 

Sat lastitia sine subsidiis, 
Pectora moili mulcet dubiae 
Copia coence. 



Tojo? Ap«f jipoloKioyoc ivi 'wloxtfAOiin /Aifxnv^ 
Kill To<cc, Ua-ppiv <wX«|<v i^alt Qiay. 



SEPTEM STATES. 

Prima parit terras aetas, siccatque secunda, 
Evocat Abramum dein tertia ; quarta relinquit 
^gyptum ; templo Solomonis quinta supersit ; 
Cyrum sexta timet ; leetatur septima Christo. 

* The above is a version of a Latin Epigram on the famous John 
J)uk.e of Marlborough, by the Abbe Salvini, which is as follows ; 

Haiifl alio vultu, fremuit Mars acer in armis ; 
Hand alio, Cypriam percurit ore Deam. 

The Duke was, it se^jj^s, remarkably handsome in his person, 
to which the second line-^a? reference 



POEMATA. 3^45 

* His Tempelmanni numeris descripseris orbemy 

* Cum sex centuriis Judaeo miliia septeiif. 4 
Myrias ^ yEgypto cessit bis septima pinguL 
Myrias adsciscit sibi nonagesima septem 
Inipevium qua Turca ^ ferox exercet iniquutn. 

Undecies binas decadas et miliia septem. 
Sortitur ^ Pelopis tellus quae nomine gaudet. 

Myriadas decies septem numerare jubcbit 
Pastor "* Arabs ; decies octo sibi Persa ^ requirit. 
Myriades sibi pulchra duas, duo miliia poscit 

• To the above lines, which are unfinished, and can therefore 
be only offered as a fragment, in the doctor's manuscript, are pre- 
fixed the words, " Geograpliia Metrica." As we are referred, in 
the first of the verses, to Templeman, for having furnished the 
numerical computations that are the subject of thera^ his work has 
been accordingly consulted, the title of which is, "A new Survey 
of the Globe," and which professes to give an accurate mensura- 
tion of all the empires, kingdoms, and other divisions thereof, in the 
sqiiare miles that they respectively contain. On comparison of the 
several numbers in these verses with 'those set down by Temple- 
man, it appears that nearly half of them are precisely the same 4 

the rest are not quite so exactly done For the convenience of 

the reader, it has been thought right to subjoin each number, as it 
stands in Templeman's works, to that in Dr. Johnson's verses 
which refers to it. 

1 In this first article that is versified, there is an accurate cour 
formity in Dr. Johnson's number to Templeman's ; who sets down 
the square miles of Palestine at 7,600. 

2 The square miles of jEgypt are, in Templeman, 140,700. 

3 The whole Turkish empire, in Templeman is computed at 
960,057 square miles. 

•i In the four following ai>ticles, the numbers, in Templeman and 
in Johnson's verses are alike. We find, accordingly, the Morea, 
in Templeman, to be set down at 7,220 square miles. Arabia at> 
700,000^. ..Persia, at 800,000,... and Naples, at 22,000. 



346 POEMATA. 

Parthenope.'* * Novies vult tel'us mille Sicana. 
^ Papa suo regit imperio ter millia quinqiie. 
Cum sex centuriis numerat sex millia Tuscus. ^ 
Centuriu Ligures ^ augent duo nii'lia quarta. 
Centurae octavam decadem addit Lucca ^ secundas. 

Ut dicas, spatiis quam latis imperet orbi 
^° Russia, myriadas ter denas adde trecentis ; 
" Sardiniam cum sexcentis sex millia complent. 

Cum sexagenis, dum plura recluserit aetas, 
Myriadas ter mille homini dat terra 12 colendas. 

Vult sibi vicenas millesima myrias addi, 
Vicenis quinas, Asiam ^^ metata celebrem. 

Se quinquagenis octingentesima jungit 
Myrias, ut menti pateat tota Africa ^* doctae. 

Myriadas septem decies Europa ^^ ducentis 
Et quadragenis quoque ter tria millia jungit. 

Myriadas denas dat, quinque et millia, sexque 
Centurias, et tres decadas Europa Britannis.i^ 

^ Ibid. 5 Sicily, in Tempieman, is put down at 9,400. 

6 The Pope's dominions, at 14,868. 

7 Tuscany, at 5,640. 

8 Genoa, in Tempieman, as in Johnson likewise, is set down at 
2,400. 

9 Lucca, at 280. 

10 The Russian empire, in the 29th. plate of Tempieman, is set 
down at 3,303.485 square miles. 

11 Sai-dinia, in Tempieman, as likewise in Johnson, 6,600. 

12 The habitable Avorld, in Tempieman, is computed, in square 
miles, at 30,666,806 square miles. 

13 Asia, at 10,257,487. 

14 Africa, at 8,506,208. 

15 Europe, at 2,749,349. 

16 The British dominions, ut 105,634. 



POEMATA. 247 

Tertria myriacli conjungit millia quartse, 
Cenmri^ quartae; dectiacs quinque ^^ Anglia nectit 

Miiiia myriadi septem foecunda secundae 
Et quddrugenis decades quinque addit lerncjis 

Quingentis quadrageriis sociaiis adauget 
Miiiia Beiga ^^ novem. 

Ter sex centurias Hollandia is jactatopima 
Undecimum Camber ^^ vult septem millibus addi, 

17 England, as likewise in Johnson's expression of the number, at 
49,450. 

18 Ireland, at 27,457. 

19 In the three renaaining instances, which make the whole 
that Dr. Jolinson appears to have rendered into Latin verse, we 
find the numbers exactly agreeing with those of Templeman ; 

who makes the square miles of the United Provinces, 9540 of 

the province of Holland, 1800 and of Wales, 7,011. 



END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 



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